A Very Long Engagement
by cellotlix
Summary: "It was easier when I hated everyone with no exceptions, you know?" While Shepard and Kaidan contend with trouble in the Terminus, their new child, and an upcoming wedding, Jack struggles to come to terms with change, especially change in the shape of a certain Lieutenant. Jack/James, Shenko. Part 2 of a Mass Effect Epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Thanks to everyone reading along from the first installment 'Reunion'. If you haven't already, check it out!**

**I'm horribly unoriginal for cribbing the title of one of my favorite movies, but it's appropriate! :S**

**Anyways, please leave me a review because I love hearing what you liked and what you'd like to see. Thanks for reading, everyone!**

It was Christmas Eve, and Jack was hiding.

Not particularly well, she knew. She'd chosen a dingy, blast-pocked bar in downtown Vancouver as her hiding place. If she'd really wanted to get out of reach, she'd have lifted a shuttle from Alliance HQ and buzzed around the system for a few days. They'd know where she was, but her status as a war hero and close personal friend of Captain Shepard meant they wouldn't be able to do much about it.

Her chosen hiding place wasn't even an interesting bar, though still better than the alternatives. The patrons were mostly older men, dully watching the news and chugging weak drinks. A handful of more dangerous looking individuals played pool in the corner and hunched over a laughably low-stakes game of poker.

She was hiding; from Shepard, from her grudging responsibilities. She was hiding from change.

"You gonna order anything?" the bartender groused at her. "Or you just gonna park your ass in one of my seats all night?"

"Right, because there's a long line of people dying to order swill at your shitty bar," Jack retorted. "I'll order when I'm ready."

The bartender waved her off, scowling and turning back toward the TV.

Everyone watched the news in this post-Reaper galaxy. Organized sports and manufactured dramas no longer held the same allure; why bother when real life was so entertaining?

On the flickering TV, the smiling anchors launched into the weekly report on Shepard and Kaidan. Now that the war was over and all life in the galaxy wasn't about to be completely extinguished by the Reapers, most news circuits focused on the two human Spectres and war heroes, speculating wildly on their lives, their plans, and trying desperately to catch footage of them in their home on Alliance HQ grounds. Jack would have liked to (because she still wasn't exactly comfortable with personal connections) but even she couldn't deny that this bullshit made her defensive. Both she and Kaidan had done enough. They deserved to ride off in the sunset without the paparazzi dogging their every step or whatever fucking thing.

"-reports of increasing mercenary activity in the Terminus Systems," one of the anchors was saying, her perfectly sculpted brows furrowed low over heavily-lined eyes. This wasn't news, Jack thought, her expression twisting with dislike. This was obvious. This was like reporting that people breathed air and loved to screw each other.

She'd had a lot of time to speculate, because she wasn't due to get a new batch of biotic students for another month. In her estimation, a lot of people had died in the wars, but it seemed like even more had been left alive, and without the Citadel they wandered through the systems, either trying to survive or trying to make trouble. And without an actual seat of power, the Council was largely crippled in its ability to govern.

If Jack didn't care about Shepard, she might have taken bets on how long it would take the Council to round up their war hero Spectres and send them to the Terminus to root out these startlingly organized mercenaries, who seemed to be everywhere at once, who hit targets with deadly precision, spreading like a plague. As it was, the eventuality of that request pissed her off.

She fished a cigarette out of her longcoat and clamped it between her lips, pawing through her pockets for her lighter. Ah- of course. Remembered the cigarettes, forgot the lighter. She'd probably left it on the counter again, right in that fucking bowl that was supposed to help her remember to bring everything when she left the apartment.

"Need a light?"

She spun, nerves thrilling. Of course it was James. These days he found her regardless of where she hid, almost like he read her thoughts and intentions before she even had them. The intimacy implicit in such a thing irritated her. Fucking meathead. "What are you doing here?"

"I like this bar," he said, shrugging. "I came for a drink."

"I thought you'd be at Shepard's." Her voice was raw, bitter.

"Nah. They need a few days. Besides, it kind of makes my stomach hurt, being around them too long."

"What?"

He gestured impatiently. "You know- because they're too sweet? All lovey-dovey, kissing, hugging, touching. They need a few days."

"I doubt that'll do anything."

He chuckled good naturedly. "Yeah, you're probably right. Still, it's Christmas Eve. Wanted to give them some time alone before the brouhaha tomorrow."

Jack pinched her brow. "Fuck. I forgot about that."

"Now you can't say you forgot if you skip," he said, infuriatingly smug.

"Asshole."

"Yeah, yeah." He flipped a lighter out of his pocket in an oddly assured motion, striking a flame. "Still need that light?"

She let a terse breath out from her nose before leaning closer to him, to the glowing ember that illuminated a narrow band of his features; the strong jaw, surprisingly sensuous lips. She saw his knuckles were latticed with scars.

"Thanks." She took a drag, blew it out in his face; baiting him.

But he only watched her with amusement, a slow, irritating grin turning his lips. "_De nada._ Can I borrow one?" .

"You know that's probably the stupidest way to ask for a smoke," she snapped. "Are you planning on giving it back when you're done?"

"No, but I'll owe you," he said. "Probably wouldn't be the worst thing to have a good looking guy like me owe you something."

"You have a pretty high opinion of yourself," she retorted, but she passed him a cigarette, careful not to touch his hands.

"_Gracias_."

"Surprised you smoke," she said, taking a deep drag. "You know they're bad for you, right?"

"Why would that matter to me?"

She realized too late why it was a strange observation. "You swagger. Puffed up, conceited. I bet you pump the iron less to be strong and more to impress the _ladies, _am I right, Meathead?"

He grinned. "Sounds like you got me all figured out." He leaned closer. "Are you impressed?"

"It takes a lot more than that to impress me," she heard herself say. She'd meant it to be rejection, but instead it rang out between them like a challenge. Not to say he wasn't impressive, physically anyway. He looked less like a man and more like a tank, all thick muscles and raw power. It was cold and raining outside, and all he wore was a t-shirt and fatigues, allowing full view of the muscles banding in his arms and chest.

Swallowing, she turned away. "I'll have that drink now," she called to the bartender.

"One for me too," James said, taking a seat to her left and leaning on the bar.

Pleased to finally be getting some money out of Jack, the bartender passed them a pair of frosty beers. Before Jack could fish her wallet out of her coat, though, James passed the bartender a handful a credits and waved her off. "It's on me," he said. Grinning. Like he was doing her some big fucking favor.

"I don't want your charity."

"It's not charity," he insisted. "Just thanks for the cigarette."

Jack scowled. She didn't like owing, even if it made sense, even if it came on the heels of a favor on her end. Because once you opened up that door, it would go back and forth for as long as you both lived, and she'd rather blow off her own face with her shotgun than enter such an arrangement. "I don't want your thanks either."

"You got it anyway." He grinned wider and took a long swig of beer, and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

What a jackass. She downed her own beer without looking at him, because she got the feeling the longer she watched, the harder it would be to stop watching altogether. He was annoying and stupid, but she couldn't deny that there was something magnetic about him - his oddly sensuous lips, the strong angles of his nose and jaw, the scars.

She didn't like being around magnetic people. Well, she did; that was the problem. She knew how this was going to go because it'd been like this for the last few weeks; James would find her - at a bar, at a club. One time she'd made a point to check out the rebuilt library because it wasn't a place she was likely to go, and sure enough - he'd been there. Hadn't even been looking for her. Anyways, he'd find her, they'd start talking, and then five hours later she'd look down at her watch and see how the time had flown. And she'd look up at his big dumb face and a sliver of fear would curl around her heart. What kind of person was he, if he could make trudging time pick up and run?

"You drop by HQ today?" he asked without looking at her, instead watching the flickering TV. His eyes narrowed slightly when the report returned to the terrorists.

"Nah," she said, nonchalant. "Why? You miss me?"

"You know it, _triste." _He turned away from the TV and grinned that shit-eating grin at her, that infuriating smirk - all scarred, full lips. She took another desperate drag of her cigarette.

"Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"Just wondering if you saw Shepard doing her thing."

"By doing her thing you mean working too hard, right?"

"Heh. Right."

Jack scowled. "She should be resting. She just gave birth, for fuck's sake. Not to mention those mercs that beat the shit out of her."

"How about you tell her you think so and see how that goes?"

"I'm not stupid," Jack retorted.

"You sure?"

She rounded on him. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. You, on the other hand . . ."

He laughed and held up his hands, and she tried to ignore how much she liked the sound of his laughter. "Just poking fun. Don't kill me."

"I'll think about it. Why you bring it up, anyway?"

He took a long drag on his cigarette, and she got the feeling he enjoyed keeping her in suspense. "Aw, nothing really. Just Shepard kicked the shit out of me today."

"She _what?" _Jack blurted, and she got to her feet, hands curling into hard fists. "What did you do, you asshole?

This time he held up his hands for real, and she noted with satisfaction that she'd scared him a little. "Jesus Christ, Jack. I didn't do anything. We were sparring."

She sat down again, but not before fixing him with a skeptical glare. "Make you feel good to beat up women?"

"As a matter of fact, she's the one who wanted to fight me," he said with great dignity. "Probably shouldn have known something was up, just from the way she was acting. All innocent and sweet. 'Hey Vega, how about you go a few rounds with your busted-up Captain, huh? For old time's sake?'" he said in a fairly serviceable impression of her voice.

Despite herself, Jack grinned. "Oh shit."

"Yeah, you got the idea. Me, I swallowed it hook line and sinker. I'm squaring off with her, and _Dios mio _ she is small, and I'm thinking I'll go a little easy because she's still limping pretty bad, still needs that cane sometimes, right?"

Like Jack could have ever forgotten. She'd been the one to find Shepard in the rubble of the Citadel, more a corpse than a woman, only alive through sheer force of will. She'd been there while Shepard recovered, slowly relearning how to walk, slowly growing larger with Kaidan's child ever day.

"So then she pins me, and she's got this shit-eating grin on her face and her boot on my throat," James was saying, gesturing so animatedly that he almost knocked his beer off the counter. "I can't even get enough air to say 'uncle.'"

"Serves you right for underestimating her," Jack said, smirking despite herself.

"You said it_. _I mean, come on! I'm not a total jackass! I was trying to be a gentleman, you know? She had a baby a few weeks ago, for crying out loud. And all that other business."

"You know she's been obsessively training since she got the grudging okay from her doctor, right?" Jack pointed out. "She's been fucking chomping at the bit to have a go at someone. Big meathead like yourself, trying to be all chivalrous; you might as well have painted a 'kick my ass to Luna!' sign on your forehead."

But James laughed. "I know, I know. I deserved it. It's nice to see her back in form, though. Not that she was even too far off. I swear, if they make 'em tougher than Shepard, I'd like to see it."

It was wholly unwelcome to realize the curdling in her gut was envy. "She's great if you go for that girl-scout thing," Jack said, taking a swig of her watered down beer.

"Hey, now." James paused mid-drag, turning to look at her very slowly, and she saw the dawning realization on his features as clearly as sunlight. "You're jealous!" he accused, grinning like a dope.

"The hell I am. I just made a fucking observation!"

"You should see your face!" he crowed. "Red as a tomato."

"Yeah," she said, stubbing out her cigarette on the bar. "Because I'm getting pissed."

"Whoa, there," he said, holding up his hands. "Easy. It's all in good fun."

"Fun for you, maybe."

This time, he laughed; loud enough that the bitter patrons in the back gave him a sour look. "You'd be a lot happier if you learned to laugh at yourself," he said, draining his beer to the dregs.

"I'm plenty happy," she scowled. "I got a boring, respectable job. I got a place to hang my coat. I got a friend with a new baby. I'm positively rolling in ecstasy."

"Yeah, careful you don't get any more," he deadpanned. "Your face'll crack in half."

She stared at him, not amused.

He sighed. "One of these days I'll make you laugh_._ Really laugh, too- not that bitter snarking you do. That's a promise."

"Best of luck," she smirked at him, lighting another cigarette and blowing a smoke ring in his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Very Special thanks to Urd85613, gracie21, AnnaComnena, maudlinthemad, HotaruGFC, stephivass, Preludetoanightmare, TheJadedStar, Karajgil, ZOMG its Angie, and Cyan B for your lovely reviews, and to everyone else who has read, faved and followed! You are all awesome.**

**Sorry for such a delay in getting this chapter up! Been a bit busy for the last few days (and my Horizon fic kind of ate my brain a bit) but I should be back on track here. :)**

**Please leave me a review and let me know what you liked and what you'd like to see. Thanks, everyone!**

"You gonna hover around me all night?" Jack said as they stepped out of the bar, flicking her cigarette onto the sidewalk. It was almost dawn, yet the sky over their heads churned with unshed snow.

"_Mira, _I don't hover," James retorted, a bit indignant.

"It looks like hovering from where I'm standing."

"We're going in the same direction!"

"Uh huh."

"Besides, it's the middle of the night. You never know what kind of wackos are out," he told her, craning to look around.

She laughed mirthlessly. "You know I'm the most powerful biotic in the galaxy, right?"

"Not the whole galaxy," he said, smirking at her.

"Want to test me?"

"Not particularly," he said, still grinning. "You scare me a bit, _triste."_

"Just a bit? Better work at it more, then." Jack snapped her jacket and pulled the collar up against her neck, frowning up at the sky as it began to rain again. It wasn't a long walk to her apartment on Alliance HQ, but the rain didn't really make the trek any more pleasant.

James seemed to notice her irritation for he looked at her hopefully. "Want to grab a cab?"

"And do what? Go back to your place? Have a few more drinks, get naked, fuck and never speak again?"

She almost thought his face was red, though it was hard to tell in the dark. "Er- or we could just get a cab and not walk back in the rain."

Of course. Her humiliation made her abruptly furious. "I still don't know why the fuck you don't just get your cab and leave me alone," she spat.

"I told you! It's-"

"Shut up!" she hissed, holding up a hand to silence him. Behind them, she saw figures move in and out of the shadows, a flash of their faces as they moved under a street lamp. A bottle rattled across the ground.

"What-?"

She looked around before dragging him into a darkened alley, pressing her finger to his mouth. "Those guys behind us? They were at the bar," she whispered.

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

"What are they following you for?"

She shook her head, watching the five of them turn into the alley. Her fingers twitched, a hair away from the pistol she kept inside her coat. There were five of them, and they didn't have the curious expressions of a group of friends taking a wrong turn. They were hooded, filled with intent; she saw their eyes gleam in the misting darkness.

James cursed under his breath. "_Puñeta."_

* * *

Shepard jolted awake many hours later, her heart threatening to leap from her chest. Her pulse thudded in her ears, strange and muted. The vague slivers of the dream already began to fade as she watched the darkened shadows play on the ceiling. Outside, it was raining.

Kaidan was still asleep, his arm draped across her, pulling her close. She extricated herself before striding quickly to Hannah's crib. For one horrible, breathless moment, she half believed the crib was empty before she saw Hannah staring up at her, little fist waving above her head.

Shepard breathed a ragged sigh of relief and scooped Hannah up into her arms, holding her close, breathing in her familiar scent; powder and softness.

In an attempt to outrun her racing thoughts, Shepard made herself busy. She fed Hannah, stroking her baby-fine hair as she did. She changed her mechanically and cleaned the mess without really focusing on what she did. She whispered to the baby, pressing her lips on Hannah's brow, her little nose, but in the end she was not reassured. The edges of the dream rattled around in her thoughts like a poorly latched window.

It took her a moment to realize Kaidan was no longer asleep. He watched the two of them from the bed, his face half hidden in shadow.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

"I heard Hannah fussing," she said quickly.

"Hm. I didn't hear anything," Kaidan said. He got to his feet and sat beside her. "You look upset."

Shepard let out a shaky breath. "No use hiding anything from you, is there?"

"Not really, no."

She watched the rain, stroking Hannah's hair absently. "I had the dream again."

"Which dream?

"I never told you?" Shepard took a breath, let it out slowly. "Shit. My heart is still racing."

"You don't have to tell me."

"No, it's all right," she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "When we left Earth after – after the Reapers attacked, I saw a little boy. Five years old or so. I watched him get into a shuttle, and then watched the shuttle blown out of the sky by a Reaper. I would see him almost every night. In the dream, I'm running through a burning forest; the trees are charred and the sky is red. The air is thick with smoke and ash. I hear him crying and run toward him, just in time to watch him burn alive.

"And then later, I would dream of everyone who had died because of me. I heard Ashley and Mordin, Thane and Legion. EDI and Anderson. They would all cry out, somehow bound up in this forever burning boy.

"Except now, I don't dream about the boy anymore- I dream it's Hannah. She's older, of course, but I know it's her. I hear her cry and try and run but I feel like my feet are made of lead. I can't get there in time, and I watch her burn."

Kaidan pulled her close, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Oh, Sam."

"I thought I wouldn't have this dream anymore, now that the Reapers are gone. Things are supposed to be fine now, right? That's what we all told ourselves; defeat the Reapers, enjoy peace. Except it isn't like that; not even close. The business with the terrorists, the trouble in the Terminus. The Council, the Alliance. Trying to find the people we lost, like your parents. There's always going to be something that needs us.

"And I just feel sick at myself. What business did we have bringing a child into the world? Aside from the fact that we shouldn't have to be dividing our attention from her, we're the only human Spectres, we're war heroes, we're high profile. How am I supposed to keep her safe when I can't even do the same for myself?"

"Shepard," Kaidan said, holding her shoulders. "Is this why you've been running yourself ragged?"

"I feel like I need to be on my shit," she explained. "I need to be honed, like a weapon. I don't want to be in the position I was in that terrorist base; struggling to fight back. I want to be able to defend her better than I've ever done."

"Would it be cheap to say that you already do?"

"Not cheap, I guess. It's nice to hear," she said, smiling a little.

"I watched the footage of your escape," he said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Hard to see you being hurt so bad, but you know? You kept her safe. You were amazing. I watched you break out of your restraints and neutralize the situation in the span of a few seconds and I was just reminded how skilled you are. How powerful."

"I wasn't even thinking," she explained. "It was so instinctual, at that point. They insinuated they were going to hurt Hannah, and I just – things got very slow."

"That's what I'm saying. You're not weak. And you're not alone now." He held her closer. "You won't be again."

It didn't take Hannah long to fall asleep again, rocked as she was between the two of them. Not that she and Kaidan had any other children for sake of comparison, but Hannah was an extremely agreeable infant. She rarely cried, instead watching the world with wide eyes. Shepard had been worried at first but the doctor assured her that Hannah was perfectly healthy and in the bounds of what was acceptable; some children were just quiet.

He told them to enjoy it while it lasted, his lips pulling in the kind of knowing smirk that Shepard would have found irritating in any other circumstance.

After she had tucked Hannah back into her crib, she and Kaidan crept back into bed, wrapped in one another. She pressed her ear against the wall of his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring thud of his heartbeat, comparable to the most beautiful music in the world. Outside the window, the sky began to lighten.

"What are you thinking about?" Shepard whispered.

He was quiet for a moment, watching the slow progression of dawn over the horizon. "My parents," he finally said. "Just . . . making my peace, I guess."

"Kaidan, don't," Shepard said. "It isn't hopeless yet, remember? A lot of the civilians in this area made their way north after Vancouver fell, and not all those places are reconnected yet. They could both still be out there."

"Yeah," he said distantly, not entirely convinced.

"Kaidan," she said, craning around. "We agreed we weren't going to give up until after we'd exhausted all options. Right?"

"I just don't know why they wouldn't have tried to come back if they were still alive," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Or at least try to contact me. You and I are not exactly running under the radar."

"It's no good speculating. Okay? You could torment yourself with what-ifs for years, but it won't help anything. Just . . . don't give it up yet." She kissed him. "Please."

He sighed. "Yeah. I'm sorry. You're right."

They didn't speak for a long time. He trailed his hands over her arms, lacing her fingers with his own. She heard a deep sigh rumble in his chest as he pulled her closer, breathing her in. She wondered if she'd ever tire of the way he felt, the sounds he made. A thousand little things that made him so distinctive and beautiful, that made him_hers._

"Why can't I go back to sleep?" she whispered. "I'm not freaking out anymore."

He ran a hand up her thigh. "We'll have to get up soon anyway."

"Ugh. It's Christmas today, isn't it?"

"I've never heard that reaction to Christmas before," he smirked.

"I just want to stay in all day," she complained. "Eat junk food, watch bad Christmas movies. Drag you to bed every few hours."

"Well, great. Now I don't want to do anything but that today," he said, nuzzling her neck.

"It's good that we can share each other's pain," she said, grinning up at him. "Do you think we could skip the Alliance party?"

"No, we can't skip the party," he grumbled. "We're the guests of honor."

"I bet they wouldn't miss us," she teased. "We could slip out the back, pick up some Chinese. Eat it naked."

"You're being deliberately cruel now," he accused.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. But hey- it's not until tonight. I have you all to myself for the next few hours."

"You planning on making good on all this fanciful speculation?"

She giggled. "Maybe. Be patient."

He rolled onto his back. "Bah."

A hint of early sunlight peered through the clouds and shone through the window, illuminating a narrow sliver of the bed. She ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek, the straight angle of his nose, the curve of his lips. It was still so new and beloved to touch him, to feel him under her hands. She would never tire of it.

"Oh my god," she said, grin pulling her lips.

He looked up at her. "What?"

"You're going grey," she teased delightedly. "Have you seen your temples? There's some up here too," she said, twisting a strand of it just above his brow.

He rubbed a hand over his hair, making it stand on end. "It's a trick of the light."

"It sure as hell is not. How old are you again, Alenko?"

"Getting older all the time," he sighed.

"Come on. Don't be like that," she said, pulling him closer. "I like it."

"Next you're going to say it's distinguished."

"No! It's sexy," she grinned suggestively.

He waved away her praise, smiling a little. "My dad started going grey when he was twenty-seven. Not too much- just stray hairs here and there. I suppose I should feel pretty good I started almost ten years after that."

"I heard it's more to do with how your mom's dad greyed," she pointed out. "Same goes for balding. He didn't go bald, did he?"

Kaidan grinned. "Nope."

"Not that I only love you for your ravishing good looks, but I would sorely miss doing this," she said, running her hands through his hair, making it stand on end.

"How about we start checking you for grey, old lady?"

"I'm younger than you! Why would I be going grey now?" Shepard recoiled. "My mom still had most of her color well into her fifties!"

"Uh huh. We'll see, won't we?"

"You are such an ass. I was going to give you something nice today, but now you can just forget it."

"Now who's being touchy?"

She waved him away. "I was just thinking about how we were three years ago. It hasn't really been that much time, but it seems more like decades have passed. Maybe more, you know?" She rummaged around her bedside drawer, pulling out a picture. "See? Look how young you look."

It was a picture from the shore leave they'd enjoyed after Saren's defeat, embracing in front of the Navy Pier with ridiculously huge smiles, pressed cheek to cheek.

"It feels like a lifetime ago," he said softly. "We knew about the Reapers, but we'd just earned a victory against them. They still seemed so far away, like we had time to prepare."

"It was simpler then," she breathed. "We were going to stop the Reapers, get married, retire and have kids. In that order. Kind of naïve to have expected it to happen like that, you know. But still – I would daydream about it. Even after I died and was brought back by Cerberus. Even after it became clear it wasn't going to be that simple."

"Have to admire your dedication to the dream," he smiled. "I wasn't exactly cooperative."

"You were . . . you were difficult."

"That's being generous."

"Do you want me to say you were a huge asshole and I would have broken your perfectly straight nose if I didn't have such amazing self-control?"

"It'd be the truth, wouldn't it?"

"Hah. Maybe. I'd have felt bad after. You really do have a lovely nose."

He rubbed it self-consciously. "Eh."

She didn't respond immediately, instead watching him in the increasing sunlight. One arm cradled the back of his head and his eyes were bright, dancing. She studied the familiar lines of him, the scars – half of which she'd seen him earn in battle – and the powerful muscle banding across his chest, his stomach.

He was just as solid and steady as the first day she'd met him; a bit older, of course, and many times more battle worn. But just the same where it mattered. She thought of his resolve, piloting a broken ship halfway across the galaxy just to be at her side again. She thought of the many days he'd lent his strength to her when the Reapers were upon them, when she felt as if she couldn't continue.

"I was going to do this later," she said slowly. "When we're a little less public. A little less noteworthy."

"Do what?"

She didn't reply immediately, digging around her bedside table again. "Do you remember this?" she asked him, holding it between two fingers.

He stared openmouthed when he realized what it was. "My god," he breathed. "How- how do you still have it?"

She rolled the small ring between her fingers, frowning a bit. "Miranda found it. When they were . . . during the Lazarus project. White gold lasts better than flesh and bone, you know."

"I didn't know you had it," he said, still shocked. "I thought- well, I thought it had been lost. On the old Normandy."

"I know I told you I'd keep it safe until after the Reapers were defeated, but I couldn't help it- I started wearing it around my neck. I liked the feel of it, right there against my heart. Like even if you weren't physically around, you were still with me.

"After Miranda brought me back, she gave it back to me. And even then, I kept it. Because I wanted to keep those promises we made. And I started thinking how lopsided it was that you had given so much to me, and all I had done was take from you."

"That's not true," he started, but she waved this away.

"It is, Kaidan. I took your future when I died. I took your time while you mourned. I took your trust when I came back and was Cerberus. Take, take, take. And now, I feel like I've still only taken from you, when I should be giving just as much as you give to me."

"Sam, come on," he cut in. "You've given me _you. _You've given me Hannah. It would be selfish to demand more."

She sighed. "Dammit, Kaidan. I'm trying to propose to you."

That shut him up.

"So I started thinking. I could give you this-" she said, pressing a nearly identical silver band into his palm. "In the end, it's only a chunk of metal you wear on your finger, but maybe you'll look at it and it'll remind you that as long as you bear with me, I'll do my best to be worthy of you. I'll try my whole life to give back what you give to me so easily."

He slipped her ring on her finger before following suit, kissing her hands, her wrist. "You're amazing," he said, half to himself. "Savior of the galaxy, mother of my child, and yet you still feel like you have something to prove."

"Don't I?" she asked quietly.

"No. You've already given me more than I ever had a right to expect," he said, and framed her face between his hands.

"So I take it your answer is yes?" she ventured.

"I'd say that's a fair assumption."

"Is it weird that I was afraid you'd say no to me?"

"A little," he laughed. "I asked you this question three years ago."

"But so much has changed since then," she looked away. "I – I didn't know if you just wanted things to stay like they are."

He brushed her cheek with his thumb; slow, wonderful circles. "I want you. You and Hannah. Everything else is detail work."

He pressed his lips to her own, holding her fast, and it was a seal on these old promises they spoke to one another, these old promises made new. They became bare in much the same way they had before, though there was a different edge to it now; an increasing sense of ownership, of inevitability. Of belonging.

* * *

"Are we looking for a fight, gentlemen?" Jack called to the strange men, hovering at the edge of the alleyway.

"What are you doing?" James hissed at her.

She ignored him and let her clenched fist flare with biotic power, which glowed weirdly in the low light. "Between me and my obviously powerful friend here, we're too much for skulking fucks like you. Run along."

Behind her, James groaned in dismay.

"Where's your other friend?" the leader said, stepping forward. "The Captain?"

"What fucking business is it of yours?" Jack spat.

"She made it our business when you all pulled that little stunt on Mars," the leader said. "Killed a lot of good men that day."

"Those 'good men' kidnapped and beat the shit out of a pregnant woman," Jack snarled. "Pretty sure you don't get to call yourselves good when you stoop that far."

"You would know, wouldn't you, Jacqueline Nought?"

It wasn't her real name, but it was how the Alliance knew her, and that was enough to spark her already hot temper. "You wanna wear your teeth as a hat?" Jack hissed, taking another step forward. "Come at me."

"In the middle of the city? We ain't stupid. Just a friendly warning from one interested party to another; you and your friend the Captain better watch your step," said the leader, baring his teeth. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to that little runt of hers."

The threat ignited something in Jack, sent her blood boiling through her veins. She surged forward with her fist cocked, fully intending to reduce this fuck to a greasy stain on the street when she jerked to a stop. She was belatedly aware of James' powerful hand closed around her own, holding her back, holding her at bay- the way that touch shivered. In front of her, the leader sneered. "Have a pleasant evening," he grinned, all sharp edges. "Merry Christmas."

And with that, the men filed out of the alley and into the streets, vanishing into the paling shadows.

Jack's fury rendered her incoherent for a moment. She looked up at James– so obviously convinced he'd done her a favor – and slammed her still cocked fist into his face with so much force that it sent him sprawling a few feet back into the fetid muck.

"What the fuck!" she howled at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you hear what they said?"

He rubbed his jaw. "Yeah, I heard what they said. I also saw they weren't going to actually start anything. You won't get special pardons from the municipal law just because you're Alliance."

"That - that doesn't - damn it!" She aimed a powerful kick at a garbage can, sending it crashing away. "You fucking _asshole."_

"You think you can do Shepard any favors in the clink? Calm down," he told her.

She rounded on him. "Get up. I'm going to kick your ass to Luna."

"Dammit, Jack. I did you a favor!"

She logically knew he was telling the truth, though her temper made the situation ridiculous and harrowing. She spun away from him. "Cram your favors up your ass," she snarled, striding out of the alleyway and flagging a cab.

After directing the cabbie toward the Alliance HQ, she leaned back into the seat, her temper slowly giving way to fear. She needed to warn Shepard, of course. Probably best done at the shindig tonight, where there would be too much going on for any listening ears to overhear. She needed to stay close, the better to make sure nothing would happen – not without her there.

And she needed to hit something really fucking hard.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Special thanks to my reviewers: Vanessa, waiting4morning, Anon, gracie21, CyanB, Anon2, Mz. Hyde, ZOMG its Angie, mmwaveprincess, HCLQueen, stephivass, REB-art, jay8008, Dandy in the Aspic, and HotaruGFC, and to everyone else who has read, faved and followed! You guys are awesome.**

**So forgive the mushy christmas stuff in the last few chapters- it's abominably hot where I live (and no AC! D:) and I'm wishing it was winter. I had a lot of fun with this chapter :3  
**

**Please leave me a review if you read and let me know what you liked and what you'd like to see. Thanks so much for reading, everyone!  
**

Shepard pulled her dress blues straight and winced at her reflection; the newly crooked nose, the slowly fading scars. Behind her, Kaidan wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck, a low sound rumbling in the back of his throat. She leaned into him unconsciously.

"Kaidan," she managed to say, smiling. "We have to go."

His answer was a wordless sound of disapproval.

"We can't miss the party. I'm expected to speak, we have to be seen shaking hands, etcetera."

Another annoyed sound.

"Hackett says they invited reporters."

"That man is ruthless."

"He says it's more for the new Parliament and Prime Minister."

"We'll see what happens. I bet you anything one or two will break away to harass you."

She turned around, straightening his uniform jacket. "Remember what we agreed," she reminded him, her hand resting on his chest, just above the place where the ring hung around his neck. "We're keeping this out of the news."

"Right. It'll be just the three of us. And witnesses. Jack for you, James for me. Private."

"If we want it to stay private, it needs to stay secret. Okay?"

He nodded seriously. "My lips are sealed."

She kissed him, as if testing his words.

* * *

With her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her boots propped on the dinner table, Jack sulked. There wasn't a more appropriate word for the roiling mess of irritation and temper that made its home in her gut. Many things contributed to this: the restrictive uniform she'd been coerced into wearing, the irritatingly sentimental music that the other party-goers were blithely dancing to, the terrible food.

Chief on this list, however, were the reporters. They forced through the crowd, shoving their cameras in people's face and bombarding them with banal questions about how they were enjoying the first Christmas after the Reaper war, blah blah blah.

"How about a smile, honey?" one of the reporters said to her, brandishing his camera.

She sneered instead. "Does it say 'performing monkey' on my cage? Get the fuck away from me."

He took the picture anyway before skulking off, and she actively repressed the urge to send a chair flying into his backside. It wouldn't make her feel any better, but it'd certainly liven up this dismal party.

She was pissed, her temper like a roommate that left milk on the counter and refused to pick up its dirty underwear from the bathroom floor. She'd tried drinking – which usually numbed her enough to forget the anger for a little while, at least – but it had left her feeling vaguely buzzed and irritated instead, which was not a pleasant combination.

Everything picked at her, like a thousand tiny splinters under her nails.

"Jack!"

She turned and her biting deflection withered in her throat. It was Shepard, looking happier than Jack had seen her in a long time. Her hair was slightly mused and her eyes were bright; the very picture of joy. "Yeah?"

"Just saying hi," she said, and she took a seat. "You look miserable."

"Eh . . . these kinds of parties are not really my thing."

"Tell me about it," Shepard said, nursing a sparkling water. "Kaidan had to drag me here. Well, we had to drag each other. It was a combined effort."

"You guys make me sick," Jack said, fighting a smirk. "In a good way."

Shepard ducked her head but Jack saw her grin, equal parts coy and abashed. "Ugh. I feel like I'm a braggart. It's hard to keep a lid on being happy, though."

"I noticed. Just so we're clear; if I ever come down with this lovey disease you have so unfortunately contracted, I expect you to put me out of my misery."

"And what exactly is your chosen method of assisted suicide?"

"Kick my ass right out the airlock."

"Ha. Right." Shepard took another sip. "You know, James has been hanging around quite a bit lately."

Jack recoiled. "Is this supposed to be your idea of subtle?"

"I'm just curious! You even look like you enjoy having him around sometimes."

"I'm a good actress."

"Bull. Shit."

"Fuck you, Shepard!" Jack said. "Ugh. He really pissed me off today."

"Yeah, you mentioned that earlier." Shepard shifted a bit, watching the spinning dancers. "For what it's worth, if you had attacked those guys and gotten your ass thrown in jail, I would have bailed you out. It might have even gotten me out of this party."

"Doubtful. Aren't you supposed to give a speech later?"

A long suffering sigh. "Yes."

"Well, I would have _never _forgiven myself if I made you miss out on a chance to give a speech!" Jack said, grinning her jackal's grin. "You know how much I love those."

Shepard quirked a brow at her. "You're in rare form tonight."

"What can I say? The magic of the season has warmed the very cockles of the frozen lump of plastic I call a heart."

"Ha! Your lump of plastic, my mechanical heart; we're a pair."

Jack grinned. "Shut up, Shepard."

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, listen. I have something kind of . . . well, god. Something important to tell you."

"Christ, here we go. You and the Major getting married?"

Shepard surprised her by looking stunned and somewhat guilty, and Jack realized she'd guessed it in one.

"You're kidding."

"I wouldn't kid about this," Shepard said. Her smile had become luminous, and Jack felt another odd pang of loss, as if each joy Shepard knew pulled her further away from Jack's miserable outlook. She was fast on her way to becoming unnecessary to Shepard, and she selfishly feared this.

"Well, shit. Congratulations."

"I'm telling you because we wanted to have a private ceremony. Just the officiant and a handful of witnesses. I was wondering if you would be mine."

Suddenly, Jack couldn't speak through the lump in her throat. She should have known; Shepard wasn't trying to leave Jack behind. She wanted to bring her along on these uncomfortable forays into happiness and stability. Jack once accused Shepard as being like all the rest – the shits who used her and left – and she was humbled to realize that she'd been wrong; Shepard was nothing like them.

She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I think I could manage something like that."

Shepard positively beamed. "I promise it won't be too disgusting."

"Yeah, I don't know. You and the Major will probably drone on and on about your very important everlasting love or whatever." She made her tone dripping with faux-sentimentality. "You'll wax poetic about the exact shade of his eyes, the way you fell in love immediately, how you held onto hope through long years of suffering and separation, only to ultimately triumph, blah blah."

"We won't go overboard," Shepard promised, grinning. "There will be booze and Chinese food after."

"All right, all right. I'm sold."

"Thank you, Jack," Shepard said. "Hey, I probably don't have to tell you this, but don't mention this to anyone, all right?"

"Even if I wanted to, who the fuck would I tell?"

Shepard looked at her sideways, her grin becoming sly. "Oh, I don't know. Some handsome Lieutenant dying to earn your approval."

"Goddamit, Shepard; witness or not, I will punch you out a window."

"I'm going, I'm going," Shepard said, her hands held out in placation. "Let's keep the windows in this place pristine, huh?"

"Hey, wait. How is Hannah doing?"

Shepard frowned a bit. "She's all right. We hired Miranda to watch her for the night. I would have brought her along, but . . ."

"This fucking circus is no place for a baby," Jack supplied.

"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe we can get out early."

"I'm always game for creating a distraction," Jack said, shrugging. "Knock a few dignitaries into an appetizer tray, punch a few reporters and you can slip away while everyone freaks out."

Shepard grinned. "Let's save inciting a riot for another party, yeah?"

"You're so fucking boring."

"Well, you know. I'm a mother now. Soon to be wife. I might as well be dead, right?" Shepard asked her teasingly.

"Laugh it up. You'll see I'm right one of these days," Jack said, though without any real conviction. She'd never choose Shepard's life for herself, but no one could deny that she was happy. And if anyone had earned a little happiness, it was Shepard.

"Yeah, we'll see. Hey, don't hide in the corner all night. I bet you anything you'd be less miserable if you circulate," Shepard said lightly.

"Doubtful. What is there to do at this party? Dance to the ancient music, eat the awful food?"

"When you put it like that . . ." Shepard grinned, standing and taking her drink. "Take it easy, Jack."

"Yeah, yeah. Go find the Major; you two haven't slobbered on each other in a few minutes."

Shepard waved her off, disappearing in the crowd once again, and Jack was alone.

Shepard and the Major were getting married! It almost defied expectation; she'd never pegged Shepard or the Major to cleave too carefully to standard and acceptable relationship practice. They'd made a kid in the middle of a war zone, after all. And yet, the more she thought about it, the more it made a weird kind of sense; they were both just so in love with the other, why wouldn't they want to have a legal representation of that love?

The realization that Shepard wanted Jack at such a private occasion was surprisingly tender. Uncomfortable, too. They normally kept things sarcastically abusive because it was the only kind of camaraderie Jack could tolerate. This sincerity was strange, but not altogether unwelcome. It was nice to know they stood on equal ground.

Jack tried to maintain her sour mood but the sounds of the party now seemed a bit more cheerful instead of irritating, the music less gauche and more sweet. She scowled and knocked back the rest of her drink before signaling for another. Love and happiness were fucking contagious.

When the song ended everyone meandered back to their seats, looking to the front of the room expectantly. Hackett was already at the podium, as typically straight-backed and stern, as she'd ever seen. She wondered if he thought this party was a waste of time. If he did, she could commiserate.

"I'd like to formally welcome our newly elected Parliament representatives and Prime Minister to Alliance Headquarters, and I'd also like to thank them for joining us today in this celebration. It's been a difficult year, but the best is ahead of us," he said to polite applause.

Jack drifted during the speeches. She had about as much interest in the pontificating of the newly elected rulers of the Alliance as a rock would. Instead, she scanned the room as Hackett and the new Prime Minster addressed the crowd. Most listened with very carefully constructed expressions of interest, and in the background the reporters drifted from place to place, their cameras flashing almost in time with their advance. Like gnats, or some other kind of disgusting pest.

After the requisite boastful encouragement, the Prime Minister called Shepard up to the podium, and now it seemed to Jack the applause was earnest and sincere. It was easy to see that everyone in this room adored her; she could probably have run for office and won with very little effort if she had a mind to. Of course, Shepard more than had her fill of politics during the war.

She cleared her throat, smiling a little. "Thank you for having me tonight. It's both an honor and a pleasure to be here."

Jack grinned. She'd hardly begun and already neck deep in the ego-stroking lies. Though, that wasn't really Shepard's fault so much as the occasion; fellating the ruling class was standard procedure.

"I'll try and keep this short, since the food looks fantastic and I haven't had a chance to dance yet, and anyone who knows me know it's not a sight to be missed." Polite laughter, knowing grins.

Shepard cleared her throat again. "This time last year we all were fighting for our lives against the Reapers. Every place in the galaxy was the front line. There wasn't any escaping the Reaper's advance and there was no reprieve; not for rest, not for celebration. We took what comfort we could in small victories, little hopes; they were all we had.

"Now, the Reapers are gone for good. We have a future of our own making, one that was bought at a heavy price. We are free to hope for bigger things, larger victories. Innovation, exploration. There are places in our galaxy we've never seen, and many other galaxies besides our own. We're at a fork in the road, but with many paths branching outward.

"So the best season's wishes to you all," Shepard said, raising her glass. "I can't wait to see what this coming year has in store." Jack caught the significant look she shared with Kaidan before she drank, the slightly coy, knowing smile. The room echoed her toast and with that, the band struck up another ancient tune, this one just as hopeful as her words had been.

Jack found it a bit hilarious that Shepard was naturally a terrible public speaker. She'd seen the video of when she'd gotten her first Star of Terra. She'd stumbled and sputtered so pathetically that the taciturn Admiral Hackett had taken pity on her and sent her away. Not many people knew the story behind the scenes; from that moment on, Shepard practiced. She positioned herself in front of the mirror, practicing gestures. She had to pretend that the room was empty, or that she was speaking only to a gathering of close friends.

She watched Shepard and Kaidan dance, flushed and laughing, looking as if no other person existed in the room but the two of them. Normally, slavish affection of that kind made Jack nauseous, but there was something grudgingly sweet about it. They'd both suffered so much; it was nice to see them happy. Nice to know that kind of partnership was even possible; both of them giving and taking, relying on one another in balance.

She almost didn't notice James saunter up to her table. He wore the same dress uniform as the rest of the military guests, though on him it looked just as ridiculous as it did on her. She'd unbuttoned her jacket so that it hung open, revealing an inappropriate shirt underneath, but his rebellion was less overt; he'd merely crammed a stupid red felt hat on his head, quirked at a jaunty angle. A spectacular bruise bloomed under his left eye.

"Was wondering where you were," he said easily. "Care for a drink?" He offered one of the drinks in his hands.

"This your idea of a peace offering?" she asked, scowling.

"Ha! Way I remember it, you're the one who hit me."

"Way I remember it, you deserved more," she retorted, though she took the proffered drink grudgingly.

He rubbed his jaw. "You know, you aren't the only lady to punch me out, but damn if you don't hit the hardest."

"I'm sure you deserved it those times too."

He chuckled good naturedly. "Probably. You enjoying yourself?"

"Well, I was," she said, taking a deliberate sip; bourbon, just like she preferred. She half wondered if he'd noticed her drink of choice and brought her one to smooth her over. She decided this didn't piss her off as much as it should have.

"Yeah, yeah; you're still mad. Come on, though. Think about spending Christmas in the clink with the drunk drivers and ladies of the night. That sound like your idea of a good time?"

"Actually, doesn't sound too bad," Jack said, swirling the contents of her glass. "The jail here is probably a thousand times nicer than the joints I've been in."

"Yeah . . . you know, I remember hearing you're some kind of reformed criminal."

She grinned dangerously. "Who said anything about reformed?"

"Ooh, scary," he grinned, mock-shivering. "Who would have thought, huh? The dangerous and sexy Subject Zero leaving her criminal ways behind to teach biotic kids for the Alliance. Shit, you're almost respectable now!"

"Ugh," Jack groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Shut the fuck up."

"I can't believe they even got you in a uniform for this."

She picked at the fine uniform coat, the shiny brass buttons gleaming in the low lights. "The things you'll do for a paycheck."

"Bullshit. You like being respectable. You like keeping an eye on things, watching the stuffed shirts schmooze."

"I don't like or dislike it," Jack insisted. "Free food, free beer; sounds like a decent evening to me. The music is shit though."

"No arguments here," James said, watching the dancers. "Shepard loves this kind of stuff, did you know? She and Kaidan collect old records."

"She's such a fucking old lady," Jack said, though she didn't bother to hide her affectionate tone.

"God help us all if they make more old ladies like Shepard."

"Heh."

They drank in silence as the band switched to a slower tune, the drums shimmering insubstantially over a soulful bass line, primal as a heartbeat.

"You want to dance?" James asked her.

The thought of his arms around her was terrifying; not because he scared her, but because she suspected she'd like it more than she should. She turned away from him, the better to ignore his stupidly earnest expression. "Nope."

"Fair enough."

Jack shifted in her seat as she watched the party-goers revolve more slowly, self-concerned and spinning. She watched Shepard and Kaidan entwine under the lights, an island apart from all the others. He pressed a kiss into her hair and she rested her head on his shoulder.

It was too intimate for a public place, with hundreds of people and an army of nosy, pushy reporters, who were now gleefully snapping pictures. Jack was abruptly furious on their behalf, but they didn't even seem to notice.

She'd read ancient Kurt Vonnegut books when she was younger, after breaking out of Pragia. His sparse prose and blackly funny perspective meshed well with her sensibilities. _The Sirens of Titan _was possibly one of her favorite books, and not only because of Vonnegut's bleak view of space travel. ("Mankind flung his advance outward, ever outward. He flung it like stones.") Yet watching Kaidan and Shepard, she was reminded of a concept from _Cat's Cradle _that had stuck with her, a splinter in her mind.

It was the idea of a _duprass; _ two people bound together as equals, where no one and nothing could intrude. She'd dismissed the concept at first, naturally. That kind of dependence was not only pathetic, it was unlikely. There was always one with power and one without. There was always one in the position of advantage, so true partnership was impossible.

It was harder to dismiss the idea when staring it straight in the face, dancing under soft lights.

She'd gone along with Shepard for over a year now, and she should have grown accustomed to the implacable woman challenging her stubbornly held world-views. But the loss of this particular one was disorienting, as it defined the way she interacted with not only others, but with how she viewed herself in the scheme of things.

She'd laughed in the face of what people liked to call love; a cheap, flimsy thing, governed by an attempt to dress up baser urges. She'd laughed at partnerships that inevitably devolved into contention and pain. It was obvious to her, it was something that sold greeting cards and chocolate, romance novels in cafes; an abstract, not a reality.

She wasn't such an asshole she couldn't admit to being wrong. But the prospect of being wrong about this was staggering. It opened a Pandora's box of possibility she'd ignored out of necessity.

With an irritated sigh, she tossed back the rest of her drink. This was academic, as far as she was concerned. Half-drunk musings of a miserable bitch at a party.

"What's bugging you?" James asked her, breaking through her reverie.

She cleared her throat. "Nothing."

"You're pretty quiet."

"Just thinking." She shrugged. "Bourbon's a drink you have to contemplate, you know?"

"So I've heard."

"You don't have to hang around me, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I like the company."

"You some kind of masochist?" she quirked a brow as if to question his sanity.

But he only laughed. It was his standard response to most of what she said. "Nah. You must not have a high opinion of yourself if that's your first thought."

"No. It's just that I don't exactly make a secret of hating you."

He grinned. "You don't hate me. And if you do, you love hating me. You're getting something out of this too."

It was a surprisingly astute observation; naturally, it scared the shit out of Jack. "You're a fucking idiot." She shot to her feet, stumbling a bit as the booze rushed to her head. She'd sucked down much more alcohol than she initially thought, going by how the room swayed as she struggled to regain her balance.

James was already hovering at her side, worried. "You all right?"

"I'm getting another drink," she hissed. "Feel free to park your ass down and leave me the hell alone."

"Aw, Jack. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Isn't that how you are? What _do _you say that you mean? What have you ever said that means anything?" she spat.

It surprised her to see a flash of hurt cross his face, and the wave of guilt that came crashing over her surprised her even more. "So I guess you have me all figured out," he said, though unlike the day before, this time the statement had lost its coy, teasing edge.

She ignored this, but before she could lurch off in the direction of the bar a scantily clad brunette woman with a camera sidled up to them, a familiar speculative expression on her face. Just her fucking luck- another reporter. They were attracted to drama like flies are to shit.

"Allers," James said, nodding. "Kind of busy."

"Yeah, everyone's busy," Allers said, hand on her cocked hip, one delicate eyebrow raised as she studied Jack. "Can you and your . . . friend here spare a moment for me?"

Jack actively repressed the urge to send the woman flying across the room. James, for his part, took this in stride. "I guess. Fire away."

"You two are pretty close to the Captain and the Major, wouldn't you say?" Allers asked as her camera focused on the two of them, its bright eye pinning her to the floor like a bug in a collection.

"Yeah, you could say that," James said. His easy grin was back.

"They've been very mysterious about their plans. Know anything?"

"There are no plans," Jack said firmly. "They're two people who are raising their kid together. End of story."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Allers said smugly. "They've been even more demonstrative lately. Very cagey and coy. We all suspect something is up."

James smirked. "They're getting married," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

But Jack missed the sarcasm- she heard only the words and her already stewing temper exploded. She rounded on him, mad enough to spit glass. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she hissed. "Why the fuck would you mention that after what they said?

"What? Nothing! I was joking!" he said quickly. "They . . . they aren't, are they?"

She realized her mistake the second she caught sight of Allers' face, that smugly triumphant expression, a cat with a canary in its mouth.

"N-no, they're not. Ha ha. Funny joke," Jack said quickly, but it was too late; the damage was done. Allers was already backing away from them. Who cared about what two grunts like them had to say? She had struck the mother lode.

"We've got breaking news at the Alliance Christmas Gala," she was saying into her Omni-tool.

"Allers! Come on!" James said, attempting to placate. "Just a mistake, right? No need to spread it around, even if it is true."

"James! Shut the hell up!" Jack hissed.

"Yeah . . . sorry, James. Without a war, I've got to court the ratings, and right now this kind of stuff is exactly what people want to see. You understand," Allers said, and with that she sauntered away, already drafting her breaking report. The two of them dumbly watched her go.

Jack was the first to recover. "You fucking moron!" she howled, shoving him. "They were trying to keep it private!"

"You're the one who spilled it!" James retorted. "If you hadn't said anything, she'd never have known it wasn't a joke."

He was right, of course. He was also an asshole. "Damn it!" she cursed, pinching her brow. The thought of Shepard's disappointed face made her feel physically ill, like she'd broken something that couldn't be fixed. She was supposed to be trustworthy now, a guardian of her friend and her interests. Instead, she'd ruined their plans in spectacular fashion a few hours after learning them. Not alone, she quickly clarified. Meathead had certainly played his part. But they were responsible all the same.

She glared up at James as if she could erase him with a glance, but he only returned her furious stare with one of mingled contrition and temper. It surprised her to realize how attractive she found him at that moment, even when angry enough to punch him out of a window.

She shook the traitorous thought away. "Well come on, you fucking idiot," she spat, wobbling a bit. She felt like she was going to be sick. "Time to go tell them we broke their story."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Special thanks to gracie21, KTT2123, ZOMG its Angie, AnnaComnena, RussiaFangirl, stephivass, GahoCleric, HotaruGFC, jay8008, and CyanB for your lovely reviews, and to everyone else who faved and followed!**

**I'm so sorry for the delay, you guys! I've been sidetracked by a few other projects and then this weekend I came down with a pretty bad cold. Still fighting it off, I really wanted to get an update. **

**I'm setting a few things in motion in this chapter, hehe. **

**Anyways, please leave me a review because I love hearing from each and every one of you! Thanks for reading! **

Jack sank her fist into the punching bag, feeling the blow reverberate up her arms. She usually gleaned a fair bit of satisfaction in punching things, but today it felt pointless. She countered this slinking thought with a left hook that would have taken the head off a fully-grown man, but it was to no avail.

It was guilt. Guilt had ruined everything she used to find grudging pleasure in.

It had taken all the major news circuits on Earth a few hours to start running the story of Shepard and Kaidan's engagement. And then from there, it had taken the major galactic news circuits a few hours after that. Because all the comm buoys had been repaired, it was once again exceptionally easy to leak a story and have it spread like wildfire.

Jack bit the inside of her cheek as she remembered the look on Shepard's face. Neither of them had been angry, of course. They didn't really get angry anymore, perhaps because the Reaper war put everything in perspective. Old annoyances no longer seemed so upsetting. Either way, Shepard had clapped her on the shoulder and said that she didn't blame her, not in the slightest, that Allers could be cagey when she wanted something, blah blah.

But there hadn't been any ignoring that crestfallen expression on her face. It made Jack feel grudgingly like she'd crushed a kid's sandcastle or something, like she'd ruined something precious and beautiful.

So in typical fashion, she hid. She reacted to overtures with biting sarcasm at best, flat-out belligerence at worst. She prepared for the new batch of students she was expected to instruct in a few weeks (though honestly, there wasn't much need to prepare), and she spent most of her time training.

Hitting things had once been enjoyable. Not so much now.

She wondered if hitting a living being would register as more satisfying than a punching bag. A punching bag didn't wince or stumble, it didn't bruise. It didn't hit back.

As far as human punching bags went, Jack had been avoiding her favorite. Every time she saw James, she was overcome with warring impulses; one screamed at her to knock him out, the other desperately pleaded with her to make nice. That nicer impulse was the traitor, Jack decided; it wanted to smooth things over because she found him attractive.

She had started to wonder what it would be like to touch him, to run her hands over his body, to catch that sensuous lower lip between her teeth.

In the past, Jack had taken what she wanted from men and women for the hell of it. There wasn't any danger of attachment, of being hurt, so she did what she pleased and fuck the consequences. She'd carefully divorced sex from any feeling, so that in her mind it was purely physical; a means for release, a dalliance when she was bored.

There was an analytical part of her mind that suggested she take the same route with James. It would cure her of the attraction she felt and she could move on, just as always. Alone, safe.

It was a thrilling prospect, she allowed. He was an attractive man, interesting in a way she perversely enjoyed. He made her mad enough to choke sometimes, but most people did and she couldn't fairly count that against him.

She couldn't deny, though, that there was a part of her that found the idea terrifying. He wasn't like the others, she knew instinctively. There was something good about him, something fascinating. She knew that if she went ahead and said fuck-all to the consequences, there would be some this time. There would be attachment, vulnerability, inevitable hurt.

She sank her fist into the punching bag with so much force that it tore off the hook, spraying sand over the floor.

"Fuck," she muttered.

Faced with having to clean up the training room, Jack unwound the bindings on her knuckles and tossed them into her gym bag. It irritated her to realize she felt guilty for leaving a mess; a few years ago she wouldn't have thought twice about it. Shepard's influence, no doubt. She couldn't bring herself to be properly upset.

With a determined huff of breath, she strode out of the gym and through the relatively empty halls.

* * *

"Ugh," Shepard groaned, cradling Hannah in her arms. "Turn it off."

"This doesn't interest you in a weird way?" Kaidan asked, craning around to look at her. "You watch it enough and it's almost like they aren't talking about us anymore."

"I haven't gotten to that point yet," Shepard grumbled. "Come on, we have to get ready to go."

"I am ready to go," Kaidan said, gesturing down at his perfectly pressed uniform, every single hair in place. "You on the other hand . . ."

"Watch it. Not like the Council is expecting hospital corners here. I am a new mom, after all."

"Sure, sure. Whatever you need to tell yourself."

She kicked the back of the couch where he sat, careful not to jostle Hannah. "Just watch your news," she grumbled.

For the last week, most of the news circuits had run stories on 'the wedding of the century' between the two famous war heroes. As the entertainment media had not yet recovered from the war, most networks made do with fanciful stories on real people. A few networks ran a story detailing Admiral Hackett's mystery child, speculating endlessly that he or she was even military. There had been a few exposes on a secret Cerberus cell imbedded in the new government.

And of course, endless segments on their wedding. The guests, the dress, the scandal of jilted lovers that did not exist. Ha- that had been a good one. Westerlund news had found the doctor that Kaidan dated on and off when he believed Shepard was dead and elicited from her a tearful segment of how she'd lost her one great love to Captain Shepard.

Kaidan was handling the change in their plans with infinitely more grace than Shepard could ever manage. He wasn't pleased, but he'd accepted the turn in events with a philosophical shrug, insisting that he understood the need for a happy story in the news.

But Shepard was stingy. She'd wanted her wedding between those closest to her, not the entire galaxy. And she'd had enough of courting public opinion during her pregnancy, seeing as doing so resulted in her violent kidnapping by a group of terrorists. She wasn't interested in playing nice with the reporters.

Of course, one talk from Hackett was enough to put her previous rebellion to rest. He was right, after all. Aside from the risks, people did need to see that life was continuing on. And because she and Kaidan had both somehow managed to become celebrities by saving the galaxy, they had to make do with the public eye trained on them.

"It'll do the galaxy a lot of good to see, Captain," Hackett had said carefully. "It'll give them something nice to latch onto in the middle of all this chaos."

And though Shepard desperately wanted to argue, she could not.

So that was how their personal, private wedding ceremony became the 'event of the century.' She resigned herself to it being televised and broadcast through the galaxy. She resigned herself to a room full of people she hardly knew. She resigned herself to some hokey religious ceremony that meant absolutely nothing to her. In effect, she resigned herself to the spectacle.

She didn't have to like it, though.

"Come on," Kaidan said, patting the cushion next to him. "It is kind of funny."

"_We have Major Alenko's spurned lover Dr. Vale on next in an exclusive interview. Tune in to hear her tragic tale of love lost to the greatest hero the galaxy has ever seen," _a middle aged reporter blathered.

"How can you find this funny?" she demanded. "It's a circus. Our personal lives and history strung up on the news for all to gawk over."

"Because most of it is nonsense," he replied easily. "This bit with Dr. Vale? I went out with her three times, and most of those dates were spent talking about you."

"Oh my god," Shepard said, stifling a giggle. "That poor woman. Who wants to go on a date with a handsome man only to listen to him blather about his dead girlfriend?"

"Dead fiancée," he corrected. "I didn't even set up the date on my own; one of my friends in C-Sec did. It was a disaster."

"Sounds like it."

"So this jilted lover crap the news is churning out right now is just a story. It doesn't bother me because it isn't true."

"I guess . . ."

"Well, come on. How likely is it that they'll discover our entire story? Those conversations we had while you worked for Cerberus? Those two weeks in Chicago? Our first assignments, falling in love? All of that is ours and they can't have it. So I don't care if they make stuff up to fill in the gaps. We know what's true. They can have the stories."

Shepard sighed and leaned into him. "You always say the nicest things."

"Not always," Kaidan said, brushing a kiss in her hair before giving one to Hannah as well. "I try to, though."

The three of them stayed like that for a long while, curled up on the couch. Though she still wasn't thrilled with becoming a character on the evening news to be posed in whatever position the reporters wanted, she felt a little better. Most of it wasn't true; this stuff about Dr. Vale, Shepard as the other woman. They knew the truth, and it would keep them warm.

When the doorbell rang, Shepard gently passed Hannah into Kaidan's arms before jogging to the foyer. It was Jack, clad in her customary antique greatcoat and fatigues, and looking as if she expected to be scolded or abused. She attempted a weak grin for Shepard's sake, though it faltered when she saw the TV in the background. "Hey," she said. "This is the time you wanted, right?"

"Yeah, you're right on time. We can get there in a few hours if there are no delays."

"Give the Council a kick in the ass from me, all right?"

"I may have to. You remember the drill, right? Food's in the-"

"I know where you keep Hannah's food," Jack said a bit sourly. "I know when to feed her, I know when to change her, I know when she likes to sleep. I am positively drowning in maternal instinct, thanks to you."

Shepard snorted. "Clearly," she said as Kaidan helped her shrug into her coat. "Shouldn't be gone long, though you never know with the Council. Ping me if anything happens."

"Every time she takes a shit, I'll be sure to let you know," Jack smirked, looking a bit more like her old self.

"Asshole."

And with that, Shepard and Kaidan ducked into the cool Vancouver morning, pulling the door shut behind them. As they piled into the car, Shepard felt vague stirrings of unease curl in her gut. Not at Jack, of course; her friend had become quite accomplished at caring for Hannah. She even seemed to like it, as much as Jack allowed herself to like anything.

No, the unease stemmed from the impending meeting with the Council. She and Kaidan both knew what they wanted to talk about, what they would ask of them. It would be less a question and more a demand, she knew. It seemed that even the famous saviors of the galaxy were not above the demands of their employers.

She swallowed as Kaidan pulled out of the driveway and to the hanger.

* * *

Jack knew that Shepard wasn't supposed to be gone long. A few hours, half the day at most. They'd probably roll back in sometime in the evening, stressed out over whatever the Council wanted of them now.

She would have gone with if it had been allowed. She'd have berated the Council for daring to demand anything of the two people who had sacrificed more on their behalf than anyone else in the galaxy combined. Shepard had waved away this concern. They had a duty, she insisted. It didn't go away just because the war ended/they'd had a child/ they were getting married/ whatever the hell else was going on.

Jack looked down at Hannah's cradle, uneasy. Oh sure, she'd babysat before. Loads of times. But never alone. If something happened, if something went wrong, it would be her fault.

So as a means of precaution, she dragged Hannah's rocker next to the couch, so that she could keep an eye on her every single second. If the little squirt so much as even burped funny, Jack would be all over it in two seconds flat. She armed herself with bottles and burping cloths as if they were weapons. In a way, they were.

If the assholes she'd known could only see her now, she mused. They would laugh themselves stupid. Her hair grown out, clad in clothes approaching decent, neck deep in baby shit and toys.

In her rocker, Hannah gurgled. Jack had just fed her and though she figured Hannah was too young to know the difference she turned the TV to some cartoons, watching as the baby waved her little fist over her head, delighted with whatever it is that delights babies.

Probably the colors, Jack mused. The cutesy voices. "You're pretty easy to please," she told Hannah, rocking her with her foot.

Hannah babbled happily, watching Grunt the Great charge into a burning building to save some kittens.

"Don't know why you wouldn't be. It can't be hard to be happy as a baby," Jack said aloud. "I mean, what do you have to worry about? When your next meal is, when your diaper is full of sh- crap."

Hannah looked up at her, smiling a little.

"Yeah, I almost swore. Laugh about it, why don't you."

Laugh she did; the joyful sound of total innocence.

"Don't know why I bother. Not like you can understand, or rat me out to your parents. Those buzzkills."

Jack sighed, leaning closer to the rocker. "Ah, I'm an asshole to your parents – your mom, especially – but they're all right. I mean, anyone else would have kicked my ass to the curb for ratting out their big secret, but Shepard didn't blame me at all! She just looked at me with those big, disappointed eyes and said it was all right, that it would have gotten out eventually."

Hannah watched Jack with wide eyes, totally rapt.

"I hope when you grow up you don't inherit your mom's martyr-hero complex," Jack muttered. "The galaxy has its saviors; it needs to learn to make do with us regular jackholes."

Hannah's response to this was to sneeze, a little globule of snot running down her chin. Jack wiped it away with the rag in her hand without even consciously noticing. "Yeah, I guess there's little chance of that. I can't even imagine what it'll be like to have big hero types as parents. Though, I don't even know what it's like to have parents at all, so I'm not the best judge."

Hannah waved her little fist over her head, almost tentatively.

"Oh, don't mind me," Jack said. "I used to be really mad about it, but it's not so bad now. 'Cause you start finding other things to care about, and the things that upset you before don't seem so big anymore." She snorted. "Besides, I bet my parents were real assholes. They had to be, if they gave me up."

If it was possible for an infant to frown, Hannah did so, her little lips trembling downward. "You don't believe me!" Jack accused. "Well, what do you know? You're a fucking baby."

Hannah whimpered a little and Jack instantly felt like a monster. "Hey, I'm sorry," she said, scooping Hannah up in her arms. "You're a smart baby. Way too smart for your own good, if you want to know the truth. I almost get the feeling that you know what I'm saying to you."

Hannah's response was to giggle.

"Well, fine. I see what this is. Play it like you're sad so you get some cuddles. You're going to be a force to reckon with when you're older. I almost feel sorry for Shepard and Kaidan. Shepard especially, since you'll wrap Kaidan around your adorable little finger like a pro and she'll have to be bad cop."

They rocked like that for a while, Jack with her feet propped up on Shepard's pristine coffee table, Hannah snug as a little bug in her arms.

"I was so scared of you at first, did you know? You were so little! I was afraid I would hurt you by mistake," Jack admitted. "Isn't that kind of dumb?"

Hannah only watched her, cooing softly.

"I don't even know why I was scared of babies now. I mean, you're pretty agreeable for a baby. More so than a lot of people I know.

"People are huge babies, when you think about it. Once they learn to talk, it's all over; they'll never shut up about what bugs them or what they think. Most just yell at the top of the lungs about what they want, blah blah, except it's not cute anymore since they're not tiny and helpless."

Hannah pursed her lips, as if testing this bit of hard-won bitterness, and then grimaced. "What, you don't like that?" Jack asked her. "Maybe I'm just a bitter person. I don't know."

Hannah cooed a little, her little hand grasping at Jack's earing.

"You're already a better listener than about ninety-five percent of people I've ever known. But you're Shepard's kid, so I guess that's understandable. I always said she'd make a great mom, considering how her career is basically solving problems for a bunch of whining adult-babies."

Hannah giggled a bit. "You would think that's funny, wouldn't you? Better be careful; you'll join the Alliance and then it'll all be over. Your whole life will be solving problems for people who don't have the presence of mind to appreciate it."

Jack lapsed into silence for a moment, watching Hannah wiggle in her arms, snug in her swaddling. That stupid cache of thoughts rattled free as it usually did around this time, circling like birds over carrion. Inexplicably, she decided to speak.

"So . . . pretend you're not a baby," Jack said. "Pretend you're an adult and against your better judgment, you like a person." She snorted. "Like's almost the wrong word. You're _interested_ in a certain person. He irritates the hell out of you and he's kind of a colossal moron, but you like being around him for reasons you're not really sure of."

Hannah watched Jack attentively. She was adorable even when engrossed.

"You don't really like people as a general rule. You like to keep things arm's length, because you got really tired of people fucking you over your whole life. It kind of ruined you for a long time. But then you met this woman who drastically changed your world views, and for the most part you're happier, but you don't really know what the hell to do about these kinds of situations anymore. Your old way doesn't seem to work; use 'em and lose 'em, you know? If you used this guy, you don't think you'd be able to lose him, and that scares the shit out of you."

Hannah giggled, waving her little fist above her head.

"Jesus Christ, your mom would kill me if she heard any of this. Swearing in front of a baby and talking about shtuping some random slob.

"Though . . . he isn't really a random slob, is he?"

Jack sighed, watching Hannah clench and unclench her little fists. "It doesn't even make sense. You haven't known him that long. You run into each other at base a lot, and he always seems to know what bar you're crashing, though you make it a point not to tell other people about your plans, which means he really is on the same frequency as you are. Which is weird and kind of upsetting.

"I don't know. If you were a person and not a baby, I bet you'd ask why not just go for it, right? Like it's some kind of romantic comedy or some dumb shit like that. Because you like him (for some fucking reason or another), but you can't trust him. You can't really trust anyone to get that close. It's just starting to drive you a bit crazy."

Jack let out a long breath. "I don't even know why I'm talking to a baby about this. It's not like you'll sit up and tell me to quit whining and go for it, or forget about it, or whatever. I can't even decide what I'd want you to say, if you could say anything."

Hannah sneezed again.

"Ugh," Jack said, wiping Hannah's little nose. "It was easier when I hated everyone with no exceptions, you know? This feely crap is exhausting."

The two of them spent the rest of the evening in relative silence, bundled up on the couch and watching cartoons. At one point, Jack noticed that Hannah had nodded off in her arms, her breathing slow and light, her little eyelids twitching with a dream. Instead of putting her back in her cradle, though, Jack continued to hold her, each of them soothed by the other.

Just as she predicted, Shepard and Kaidan finally came home well into the evening. She was about to tease Shepard about the ungodly hour when she saw the look on her face, the wrinkle between her brows.

"What is it?" she asked, a pit forming in her gut.

"It's . . . well, it's more or less what I expected," Shepard said. "Vacation is over, time to get back to work."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Council wants its two human Spectres to handle the situation in the Terminus," Shepard explained. "We've graciously been allowed to work together, but . . . I don't' know. I was hoping for a little more time before heading back out. You know?"

"Jesus," Jack breathed. "Don't they have any other Spectres to harass?"

"Actually, they don't," Shepard said grimly. "A lot of them were killed by the Reapers. What few remain are off on assignment as well. To the Council's credit, asking us really was a last resort."

"So . . . do you have to leave immediately or something?"

"No, we've been given some time to get things in order. Figure out what to do with this stupid wedding and – and Hannah."

"Right."

"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm exhausted. I'll call you soon, all right?"

"Yeah, sure Shepard. You know . . . shit. You know I'm around for whatever you need," she said, watching her feet. She was desperate for Shepard to know this, especially so after her fuck up at the Christmas Gala, but those sentiments were still uncomfortable.

But Shepard looked so heartbreakingly grateful that Jack had to look away. "I appreciate it." She tried for a smile. "I may take you up on it, you know?"

"Well, within reason, naturally," Jack clarified. "I'm not going to be cleaning your house anytime soon."

"I've seen your apartment," Shepard grinned. "I don't think that'll be necessary."

"Asshole."

"Yeah, yeah. Night, Jack."

"Night."

Jack slipped out of their home and pulled the door shut behind her, but instead of calling a cab she walked back to her apartment, hiking up her coat collar around her neck. She tried to ignore the twisting in her gut, the grasping feeling of an unwanted change on the horizon.

* * *

The next day, Jack made it to the gym later than was normal. She'd slept poorly that night and woke nearly every hour, nettled by dreams and worries. Finally, she'd dressed and trudged off to the training facility, eager to smack around the punching bag for a while.

She had thought exercise would put things in perspective – or at least take her mind off things - but if anything, it made it even easier for the nagging thoughts to intrude. Worries about Shepard and Hannah, worries about James. She threw in the towel after only a half hour, stripping the bindings off her hands and tossing them in her bag with an air of disgust.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and made for the exit. She was halfway to fishing a cigarette out of her pocket when she crashed into someone solid as a brick wall, someone who grabbed her by the shoulders before she could fall. She didn't even have to look up to know who it was; the physical response to his touch was enough.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped, shrugging out of his grasp.

James looked just as stunned to see her as she was to see him. "I like working out in the morning," he managed. "It's quiet, peaceful. I'm usually alone."

This surprised her; she'd pegged him as a showy type, even told him as much. He'd allowed it. "Right. Well, knock yourself out."

"Hey, hey," he said suddenly, trailing after her. "Hold on."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing! I just haven't seen you in a while."

"Don't you think there might have been a reason for that?" she sneered.

"Yeah, yeah; I'm a dumbass and spilled the beans. It's all my fault. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"No." She turned around, attempting to duck under his arms.

"Jesus, Jack. Hold on a damn minute."

"Maybe it hasn't occurred to you that I have places to be," she said as she glared up at him.

"Right. Gotta prepare for those students you're not getting for another month," he retorted, smirking.

That shut her up for a minute. She sighed and crossed her arms. "Aren't you smart. Tell me what you want so I can leave."

He stunned her by looking uncomfortable, shifting a bit from foot to foot. "I'm not really sure what I did to piss you off so much – aside from the business with the reporters. Just wanted you to know that I'm sorry, whatever it is."

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. It surprised her that as far as she could see he was being completely genuine, which was quite a feat, as she'd prided herself on being able to tell liars from the truthful. "W-why do you care?" she managed after a long moment.

He struggled for words and she saw a bit of color rise in his cheeks. "I don't know. I like you, I guess."

"Why?" she demanded, her stomach twisting into knots.

"You're funny and tough as hell. I like talking to you, even though most of the time it seems like you'd rather beat the hell out of me."

She allowed this; it was true enough, at least. "That doesn't make you sweet, you know. It makes you an idiot."

"I know," he said. "You could tell me why you hate me, and if it's true I'll leave you alone."

"If it's true! How would you be in any position to know what's true or not?" she snorted. "I'm an extremely accomplished liar."

He stared her dead on. "I'd know because the truth makes you uncomfortable, and you're not so good that you know how to hide that."

She stared up at him, her mouth agape. What the fuck was it with him? How was it that he could so easily see through her conflicts, through the carefully placed shield of lies to the tender truth beneath? "You're too fucking perceptive," she bit out, astounded at her nerve. "If you're interested in the delight of my company, you need to keep these charming little observations on the subtleties of my character to yourself."

"That's fair."

She scowled at him, annoyed by how agreeable he was being. "Still doesn't change the fact that I want to beat the shit out of you, though."

He looked back to the training room and brightened. "Well, why not?"

"What?"

"Let's dance," he said, grinning. "The kind of dancing you like."

She couldn't deny the prospect intrigued her. She wouldn't fuck him, so she'd deal with this buzzing tension the next best way; through violence. "You sure? I don't have any problems smashing up that pretty face."

"Aren't you charming?" he said, dumping his bag and rolling his neck so that it cracked loudly. "I'll be sure to avoid _your _pretty face."

"A gentleman? Adorable." Jack tossed her bag so it skidded across the floor, crashing into his. "Remember what happened the last time you tried chivalry when squaring off with a woman?" She cracked her knuckles, grinning. "And I'm not merciful like Shepard."

"Jesus, _la triste, _you trying to scare me?"

"Is it working?"

He squared off with her, bobbing and weaving with his elbows tucked tight. "What if I say yes?"

"I'd say you were smart." She shot out with a powerful left hook which James deflected easily. He retaliated much faster than should have been possible for such a large man, but she was buzzing, alive; she batted away his blow with the ease of a thousand repetitions.

"You know I was raised doing this," she said easily, defending against another light blow. "Pitted against other stolen kids, pumped full of drugs. While you were playing ball with your little friends, I was scraping for my life against kids that would have ripped out my heart to live."

She'd meant it to be a taunt – a reminder that she knew her way around these dirty fights – but it backfired. He looked at her with something approaching pity and she felt a hot burst of temper in her gut. "That's rough," he said. His fists lowered a bit.

She took full advantage, smashing him in the jaw as hard as she could. He stumbled but didn't fall; his sharp gaze cut into her like a blade. "You're going easy on me," she said. "Pulling your punches. Stop it."

"Or what?" He spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Or I'll stop pulling mine," she taunted.

"Ha! Fair enough." He brought his fists back up to his face, his piercing eyes following her perfectly as she darted back and forth.

This time when he swung out toward her, she could tell that he wasn't holding back. She blocked the blow but stumbled a bit as his fist connected with forearm, which smarted where he'd struck. She wasn't afraid, not really, but there was something close to apprehension spinning her gut, a vague respect at his strength and power. Apprehension and something else, something that coiled like a spring in her limbs, made the world sweat under her feet.

It was a mistake to fight him like this; lunging, dodging, swinging, dancing. It was a mistake to face him when every move he made was like poetry in motion, the banding of his muscles, the way sweat made a prism of the morning on his dark skin. She'd wanted to fight, but now that they were she wondered if it wouldn't have been a better idea to just fuck.

They grew more desperate the longer the fight went on. He was slower to dodge, she was weaker in her offense. They stumbled. His cut lip dripped blood down his chin and the bruise under his eye gave him the look of an accomplished brawler, intent and nearly feral. He'd done this before, just as she had. She'd bragged about her own experience scrapping for her life, but she could tell in the way he tuned his body to a beautiful weapon that this wasn't new for him either.

She wondered about the stories behind the skill in him, the experience that had hardened him into something tough and strong.

He took advantage of her distraction in the same way she had earlier; while she watched him duck and weave with growing fascination, he sunk his fist into her gut, sending her stumbling. It hadn't been a hard blow but it did hurt when she slammed into the wall, her head smacking against the mirror.

"Shit," he cursed, rushing to her side. It thrilled her to hear genuine concern in his voice. "You all right?"

Her response was to smash him with a right hook that caught him in the nose; she felt it crack under her fist, a satisfying crunch. "When are you going to stop caring?" she hissed, wiping a bit of blood off her face. She'd meant the question to relate to the fight only, but as it hung between them it took a different meaning, a larger one.

"I won't," he said. He stared at her fully, not even bothering to fix his nose or wipe the blood streaming from a cut on his eyebrow. She forgot herself under his gaze; the power in it, the inexplicable challenge that it posed. That invitation and affirmation alike.

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, crushing her lips to his. It was every bit as powerful as a blow, though this didn't hurt; it thrilled where their lips met, where his hands wrapped around her waist, pressing her against him. Those damn lips, she cursed; every bit as warm and intoxicating as she'd feared. She felt his breath shudder against her skin, felt it ripple from her desperately seeking fingers to her thudding, rebellious heart. She felt him straining, felt him wanting just as badly as she did, oh _shit-_

She shoved him away abruptly, struggling to breathe. He was a nearly mirror image of her; completely stunned, with wide eyes and desire making itself plain on his features, the tautness of his body. His lips were smeared with blood. Funny; she hadn't even tasted the blood, only the softness of him, the scent on his skin-

Without speaking, she wrenched herself away and staggered into the abandoned hallway, running as fast as she could carry herself. She cursed herself as she ran; cursed herself for initiating, cursed herself even worse for liking it. It was only when she'd made it back to her apartment that she realized she'd forgotten her bag and coat, still sprawled against his like lovers spent by their pleasure.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Many thanks to Anon, Ellwyndara, ZOMG its Angie, GahoCleric, Miana, Vanessa, Deb, REB-ART, stephivass, jay8008, HCLQueen, Xx Eve of Destruction xX, and CyanB for your awesome reviews, and to everyone else who has read, faved, and followed!**

**I'm REALLY interested to hear what you all think of this chapter, heh heh. It's rated M, btw. So please feel free to drop me a review because I love getting them! Thanks so much for reading, everyone.**

James existed in a weird kind of fugue for the rest of the day. His head throbbed and he wondered if the multiple blows he'd taken contributed to his disconnect. Wishful thinking, he ultimately decided. He knew fully well what bothered him.

Bothered wasn't even the right word. Jack had crawled under his skin and made herself a home there; teasing, tormenting, enticing. Every time he tried to focus on work, the thought of her weaving in front of him with her fists held up would resurface, her eyes wide and defensive and overwhelmed. Every time he was close to forgetting about the events of the morning, he would see her hand fisted in his shirt, her lips demanding and hard yet still somehow vulnerable against his.

_Mierda._

He wasn't a stranger to any of this, not really. He'd grown up in San Diego, and as a teenager he'd had his fair share of exploits with the women in his neighborhood. They were beautiful, all of them; dark hair that caught and tamed the light, always smelling of sun and sand and something headier, something mysterious. They'd been a flash in his world; bright, all-consuming, and then gone before he could blink.

Jack was different. She was dark where they had been bright, intense where they had been loud and free. She was biting and sarcastic, and funny as hell. She was tougher than any person he'd ever known in his life, but there was something more beneath it. He didn't know if vulnerability was the right word. There was something wounded about her, seen in the way she looked at the world like a creature that's been abused its entire life.

It had struck him the first time they'd spoken, over a month ago in the Alliance Hospice's guest lounge, while they waited for Shepard to have her baby. She'd been angry and defensive. Her gaze had hardened every time the footage of Shepard's interrogation came on screen. He realized it upset her to see Shepard hurt and at that moment he knew there was more to her than blind, indiscriminate anger.

He remembered watching her hold Hannah, that look in her eyes. Not anger or hate, but sorrow. She'd blinked away tears and struggled to compose herself, but it was too late; he'd seen. At that moment he was fascinated by the depth of her, her beauty and strength mingled with tenderness. He found himself seeking her out, desperate to learn her hidden places, her thoughts.

And he'd be straight up lying if he said he didn't find her unbearable sexy.

He wondered why he even bothered categorizing it. Just when he thought he was close to understanding her, she'd hit him in the face (literally, sometimes). At this point it was unlikely she'd ever speak to him again. He couldn't help feeling as if he'd violated some unspoken agreement, though there hadn't been any choice at the moment; refuse her and she'd never speak to him again, go along with it and she'd never speak to him again.

Forget choice; there hadn't been any thinking at all. He knew he liked her; that much was obvious. She was funny and tough, interesting and beautiful, and he found himself seeking her out without consciously deciding to. But he'd always believed he had some measure of control on the situation. He was a soldier, after all. Control of the situation equaled survival of a situation.

Ha! There was no control with Jack. There was the distinct sensation of losing his grasp on what was right and what was smart. There was the sensation of plummeting headlong, and not even caring.

So he wandered that day, dumbstruck. He couldn't engage in anything; not conversation, not training, not the briefings. Some of the boys made cracks at his face -'_damn, Vega, tell me who raked you over the coals so I can send them flowers' - _and he couldn't even muster the presence of mind to smack them upside the head.

He had been about to head out for the day when he stumbled into Shepard just outside of the range. Her expression went from concern to incredulity in about a second. "Jesus Christ, James! You too?"

"Nice to see you, Lola," he managed. "What are you talking about?"

"You and Jack both look like you stuck your faces in a meat grinder. What the hell happened?" She was definitely stern now, hands on hips.

"Ah, well." He cleared his throat. "I take it she didn't say anything?"

"She told me to, and I quote 'mind my fucking business or she'd kick my ass across the Pacific.' So again, _what the hell happened?"_

He shifted a bit, uncomfortable. Part of him felt like he was betraying a confidence, though there wasn't any denying Shepard when she had that look on her face. "We were sparring a bit," he said lightly. "This morning. She fights rough."

"Yeah, you definitely look like you got the brunt," Shepard said, tapping her chin. "She doesn't hold back, does she?"

"She's the only person I've met that hits harder than you," he said, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah," Shepard waved him off. "Look, I'm glad I ran into you. I have a few things to talk to you about."

"Am I in trouble?"

She smirked. "Maybe."

"You going to knock my ass out too?"

"Maybe," she said, laughing. "No, James. I just wanted to run something by you before I make anything official."

"Shoot."

"The Council wants Kaidan and me out in the Terminus. Officially, we're assigned with 'overseeing', but they're worried about the mercenary activity going on there. They want us to keep an eye on it, stamp anything out that gets too big. It's been all cleared with the Alliance, got most of our crew selected and ready to go."

"But . . . ?"

She paused. "I was going to ask you if you'd like to be transferred under my command again. I mean . . . you haven't been home long. You probably saw enough of the Normandy and all, not to mention my ugly mug. But I could use you on my crew." She grinned. "I could always use you on my crew."

"I honestly have a choice?" he asked her.

"Well, yeah. I'm not going to force you into anything. You have your career to think about, the N7 program and all. And . . . well, most of the old crew was traumatized by what happened at the end of the war. Nine months in deep space without the relays, limping along on FTL, not to mention the problems with the fuel and broadcasting array." She peered up at him. "I'm surprised you're no worse for wear, honestly."

It wasn't really a decision, in the way that decisions required deliberation and thought. He grinned down at her. "Lola, I'd be honored to be a part of your crew again."

"God, that's a relief," she said, letting out a breath. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you! A chance to head out in the Terminus, smash up some _pendejos _for the Council; sounds like a good time to me."

"Well, it's good that at least one of us will be looking forward to it," she told him. "Can't say I'm as thrilled as you."

He fell silent. "You figure out what to do about Hannah?"

"Well, we're bringing her along. Obviously. My mom raised me on the ships she served on, hired a nurse to watch me while she was on duty. Just have to find someone suitable."

He knew logically he should have kept his fat mouth shut, but the question broke free before he could bite it back. "Jack's pretty good at that, you know," he said casually. "Er- babysitting, right? Not to mention you could probably use a biotic Specialist on your crew."

Shepard's expression became penetratingly speculative. "Is that right?"

"Just a suggestion," he said, fidgeting.

She sighed. "I wasn't going to say anything, but . . . goddammit. Come here." She dragged him into a relatively empty hallway and fixed him with a look that would have put the fear of god into an atheist. "Look," she said. "You and Jack . . . have some kind of weird thing going on."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You like her," Shepard said, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"You're sure, are you?" he tried, but Shepard shot that down immediately.

"You don't exactly make it a secret," she said. "It's very obvious, in a very stupid and kind of adorable way."

"Ouch."

She looked over her shoulder. "We never had this conversation, all right? If you tell her, I'll deny it."

"Why would I—"

"Yeah, I know. Just consider this a friendly warning."

There wasn't anything friendly about Shepard at that moment; she looked like she flossed with barbed wire and picked her teeth with the bones of those who pissed her off. He wasn't a coward, but he also wasn't a dumbass. "Jesus."

"You know how she is now. When I met her . . . let me put it this way. She made her current state seem even-tempered and well adjusted. It's taken a lot of effort on her part – and on mine – to put the shit that messed her up behind her. If this," Shepard gestured widely, "is on her level, then fine. But if anything goes down that messes her up worse, I will have to kick your ass. And I won't like it."

He struggled for a moment. "Barring that you scare the shit out of me, Lola; do you really think I'm that kind of man?"

"No, I don't," she replied. "Like I said, this is a friendly warning."

"Emphasis on warning."

"Take it how you like. For what it's worth, if this is on the level, I approve." She grinned. "I think you'd be good for each other. Not that my approval means anything."

He fixed her with a look. "Come on."

"Well . . . thanks," she said, a bit pleased.

He paused for a moment. "Just out of curiosity, is she getting one of these little talks too?"

Her brow quirked incredulously. "Can you really see me having this kind of conversation with her? Really?"

"So it doesn't matter if she's the one who ends up doing the hurting?"

"Well, yeah. Of course it does. But I think you'd be in a better position to deal than she would. Am I wrong?"

He mulled it over, considering all he knew of Jack, all he knew of himself. "No, you're not wrong."

"Right. So . . . god, this is kind of playground shit, isn't it? But just remember what I said. I'd rather not have to crack your skull anytime soon."

"Like you could if you wanted to," he teased.

"Watch it, Vega." But she grinned. "As much as I'd like to interfere and give you some pointers, in the interest of being loyal to my very temperamental friend, I cannot."

"Lola!"

"I'm sorry!" She held up her hands. "I wash my hands of this whole thing. Sink or swim, Vega."

"You're a real friend."

"Don't be like that. You're a grown man." She snorted. "I swear, though; only you would choose the most difficult person I've ever known."

He was silent for a moment. "There wasn't really much choice involved," he said finally. "Just kind of happened."

She clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm rooting for you, James."

"And not her?"

"I'm rooting for both of you."

"Ah." He grinned.

She waved him off. "I'll see you later, Lieutenant. I have to go find myself a biotic Specialist."

"Best of luck, Captain." He saluted.

"You too." With a half-grin, Shepard strode toward the outdoor ranges; a woman with a mission. He watched her go for a moment before heading in the opposite direction. He should find Jack and return the things she'd left in the gym this morning, though the prospect of doing so without some kind of fortification was not an enjoyable one.

After all, he wasn't a coward, but he wasn't a dumbass either.

* * *

The outdoor range was completely empty save for a solitary figure. She sprawled in a long chair, with her feet resting on a crate of antique clay pigeons and a rifle in her lap. With clockwork regularity, she hurled a pigeon up into the sky with her biotics before splattering it with her rifle, the shots echoing through the range like a blast from a cannon.

Jack puffed on the cigar clamped between her lips. It had begun to snow, the wet flakes sticking in the grass before melting. It was light now, but she eyed the churning grey clouds overhead with some apprehension. She thought of her longcoat - probably in James' care now - and ground her teeth together so hard that her jaw cracked.

With a growl, she shot up from the chair and slammed the crate with a biotic kick that sent the pigeons sailing through the air. She picked them off one by one, popping out the clip as the shattered pieces rained down around her.

"That's some nice shooting," Shepard said behind her.

Jack hadn't heard her sneak up, and the surprise picked at her already shortened temper. "What do you want, Shepard?"

"Whoa, now. I come in peace," she said, holding up her hands. "Where's your coat?"

"I don't need it," Jack said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the cold.

Shepard came closer. "Is everything all right?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Jack asked. Shepard was leaving, this bullshit with James, the fucking Council and their demands, the mercenaries. Everything was just fantastic.

Shepard was silent for a moment. "I could use a drink," she said finally, in a casual tone. "What do you say we hit up that bar you like?"

"You never drink anymore," Jack said immediately.

"Doesn't mean I wouldn't enjoy hanging out at a bar."

"It would have to be a real hole in the wall for people to leave you alone."

Shepard was incredulous. "Do you not want to go out or something?"

Jack folded up the rifle and kicked the empty crate out of her way. "No, we can go. It's just that you're not being half as subtle as you think you are."

"I haven't gone out with you in ages! Just the two of us, right? Do I need a reason?"

Jack smirked. "I guess not."

"Great. We can take my car."

A half hour later they were cozied up at the counter of Jack's favorite place, the Sloop. It was a dingy place, with a regular clientele that looked just as home with the rougher things in life as the criminals she once rubbed shoulders with. Order was maintained by the bartender, an elderly woman with a series of ragged scars running down the side of her face. Word had it she was an independent mercenary once, and it was understood that she knew her way around a gun.

Shepard ordered a ginger soda while Jack sipped at her bourbon, speculative. She was acting very odd; picking at her nails, chewing on her lip. Like she had some kind of secret she was sitting on. "You going to tell me what's going on?" Jack finally demanded.

"Just . . . worrying."

"About?"

"This business in the Terminus. Hannah. The wedding." She paused. "I was going to ask you if I could request to transfer you under my command."

Jack was stunned. "What?"

"I know you've got students coming soon, and I know how important that is to you. I just . . . ugh. I know how much you hate this kind of stuff, but I really hate the idea of you not being around. You're the best biotic in the galaxy, you're tough a hell, and you're my best friend."

She couldn't speak for a moment. Shepard was one of maybe two people she trusted. She'd been there during some of the toughest shit in Jack's life, and that wasn't something she'd ever forget. She hadn't known Shepard felt the same way.

"Part of this is selfish on my end," Shepard admitted as she swirled her drink in the glass. "I don't know. I have a weird feeling about this assignment, and the more people on the ship that I trust, the better I'll feel."

"Is this about Hannah?"

"I don't know," Shepard said, frowning. "Partly. I just have one of those feelings, you know?"

Jack knew all about Shepard's uncannily accurate intuition. "Shit."

"Yeah. So, look. If you don't want to come along, that's fine. I understand; you've got a life and it's not right for me to mess it up. But-"

"Shepard," Jack cut in. "Shut up. You know what my answer is."

Shepard looked up. "I really don't."

"Goddammit. Yes, transfer me to the Normandy. Sign me up, stamp my papers, blah blah blah. I'll be your nanny or biotic Specialist or whatever." She trailed off, turning her empty glass in her hands. "You remember what I said? I mean, I owe you for fucking up with this whole wedding thing."

Shepard waved her off. "Come on. I don't blame you for that at all. I mean, it was kind of stupid to tell you during the most heavily publicized event of the year. I was just too excited to keep it to myself."

"You don't have to take the blame, Shepard. Christ."

"I'm not! How about I say we're all equally responsible? It's the truth," she insisted.

"Right."

"Well, anyways, I appreciate it, Jack." Shepard pressed her lips together. "I mean it."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack said. A part of her hated talking about feelings and loyalty and the way they cared for each other. She didn't think she'd ever escape the little voice in her mind that called such things weak and stupid. But a part of her loved hearing that she was needed and cared for, that she was regarded as essential by one of the people she loved best (albeit grudgingly). "Shut up."

Shepard grinned. "All right."

They finished their drinks in relative silence before Shepard passed her some credits and shrugged back into her coat. "You coming with?"

"Nah. I want to say my goodbyes to this shithole."

Shepard laughed. "Right. I'll talk to you soon, Jack."

She pushed out into the snow, and Jack was alone with her thoughts. An irritating prospect; she'd just as soon drown them with bourbon as she would confront them, but if she was being honest the taste of alcohol was starting to irritate her, as was the uncomfortable realization that she might be a coward for avoiding them in the first place.

Shepard had mentioned leaving behind the new biotic students Jack was due to receive in a few weeks, and it hadn't surprised Jack to realize this didn't bother her as much as it would have before. She'd loved her students in Grissom. She'd been fiercely devoted to them and their well-being, to the point of possession. She'd seen them through the war without a scratch yet in the end, they'd gone their own ways.

It was something a veteran teacher knew well– that the students they loved and cared for would eventually leave them and seek their own fortunes - but for Jack it had been devastating. She'd put her soul in teaching those kids. It felt like she'd cracked open her chest and started handing out parts that they needed: Rodriguez, a bit of backbone; Prangley, some of her brains.

When they left, it felt like they took those parts with them. The thought of doing it all over again – caring for a batch of kids only to have them leave – was nauseating. It was almost worse than the bullshit with the cult or the crap with that gang of mercenaries she'd hung with for a while. They were assholes and they fucked her over, sure, but they hadn't made any bones about it. Her kids took without knowing that they hurt, and that was worse.

That first month after the Reaper war ended wasn't the worst she'd ever lived through (that dubious honor went to the crater on Pragia), but it sure hadn't been a walk in the fucking park either. Her students were gone, Shepard was slowly dying in a coma. She'd thought briefly about resuming the search for the assholes that fucked her over, but even that seemed pointless. Most of them had probably been killed by the Reapers; what was the point of looking? They were fucked, all of them.

Then Shepard woke up. She'd been beat to hell, broken by whatever had happened up there in the Crucible. And, Jack learned later, she was pregnant. She needed Jack, just like Jack needed her. And that was what had finally broken through; the realization that it was possible to be mutually and equally needed, and that it wasn't so bad.

So she was once again a member of the Normandy's crew, serving under Shepard's direct command. It was a surprisingly hopeful turn of events. She wanted to be close to them; Shepard and Hannah and Kaidan, that little family that could just as easily be broken by the shitheads who meant them harm. That wouldn't happen, not while she was sucking down air.

This meant she wouldn't be seeing James anymore. It stunned her to realize her first reaction to this thought was actual, legitimate sadness. She would _miss _him! She liked having him around; his stupidly earnest face, his irritatingly charming laughter, the things he said. The taste of him, the feel of his skin.

_What the fuck?_

She desperately pushed this realization away and tried to rationalize instead. It was attraction; that was all. Sexual attraction was easily handled, even with all her stringent rules. She'd realized it this morning when they sparred; it was probably a better idea to just fuck and get it over with, otherwise she'd never be able to get past this odd fascination.

And get over it, she would. Her interest in others never lasted beyond the morning after.

A breathtaking idea overtook her, stunning in its perfection and simplicity. She was leaving, he was staying. Why _not _get it over with? That would be that, things would go back to normal, and even if for some unfathomable reason fucking him _didn't _cure her of this strange fascination, he'd be on Earth and she'd be half the galaxy away.

Besides, that was probably all he was after, she reasoned. There was no reason to believe he wasn't like the others; charming and kind right up until they got what they wanted. She'd seen enough thoughtful men reverting to grabbing, selfish assholes over the course of a single evening to last her a lifetime. This way, they'd both get what they want. This way, they could move on.

This way, she'd be safe.

Of course, it would be safer just to leave him all together, without the sex. Maybe her weird interest in him would continue, but at least she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. And he'd meet some other woman to chase – someone light and uncomplicated and beautiful, with unmarked skin and an unmarked heart. That'd probably be better for him, anyway. Never mind how much the thought hurt her now.

It was many hours later when the door opened, revealing a snowstorm of epic proportions outside. She must have haunted this bar much longer than she thought if the storm had already rolled in. She was about to stand when she saw who it was that entered, with her coat draped over his powerfully muscled arm.

It was god. Or providence. _Some _governing force was taunting her. "W-what are you doing?" she stammered.

"I had a feeling you'd be here," James said as he wiped a bit of melting snow off his face. "I was going to give you your stuff tomorrow, but I figured you'd be out, and I knew you'd probably walk home even in this weather, so I wanted to bring you your coat. It's pretty bad out."

She stared at him with her mouth agape, and her heart threatened to punch its way out of her chest. He was _concerned!_ He'd been upset by the thought of her stumbling home in a snowstorm, half-drunk. Numbly, she took the proffered coat, though she didn't put it on. Her hands shook.

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to see," he laughed weakly. "So . . . have a good one."

He was halfway out of the door when the words burst free, completely without her consciously deciding to speak. "Wait!" She lurched out her seat. "Hold on."

"What's up?" He was looking at her in that ineffable way, the one that made her feel as if she was pinned to the floor like a bug in a collection. He was looking at her in that way that made it hard to breathe.

In the end, that look was what decided it for Jack. The terrifying breadth of what she felt when he looked at her was not something she wanted to live with, not in this world where it was easier to kill a person than it was to care. "Let's go to your place," she blurted.

His brows pulled together over hazel eyes. He was confused, and why wouldn't he be? This morning she'd punched the shit out of him and then kissed him as if he was the only man she could see now. Then she'd run away. Now she wanted to fuck. She pitied him for having the misfortune of being interested in her. She pitied herself for the opposite.

"Uh . . . sure," he said slowly, questioningly. He was waiting for her to push him and laugh cruelly. _Ha ha, just kidding, how could you think I was serious, you stupid asshole, ha ha_, etcetera. Except she wasn't kidding. She'd never been this serious in her life.

She shrugged into her coat and strode into the storm, and it thrilled her to feel the residual warmth in the cloth against her skin, still clinging to what little of his heat there was. "Can we get a cab?" she called over the howling storm.

"Yeah." He stepped into the street, and as he flagged the nearest cab she noticed that once again he'd left any sort of protective winter gear at home. She wondered if he even owned any.

He wrenched open the door and they piled into the cab, soaking wet and shivering. "Alliance HQ, G block," James said to the cabbie, and they lurched off into the storm, buffeted yet protected from the cold.

Her heart was stuttering in her chest, but it was too late now. She wanted it, he wanted it. She needed this to be over, because she couldn't live like this; trapped and devoted to something she couldn't trust. She scooted closer until they were touching, leg to leg, side by side. He flinched when she brought her hand up to his face and traced the scar across his nose.

"This is exactly what you think it is," she whispered.

He struggled to speak. "Why?"

"There isn't a why," she lied. "If you don't want it, I'll go. I'll leave you alone." That was true, at least. It would be better if he didn't want it.

But he did; she saw it in his eyes, the way he watched her lips, the way his gaze trailed over her jaw, her collarbone. He watched her covetously. No, not covetously; he watched her in a way that was almost worshipful. Her resolve wavered as she realized the magnitude of what he'd kept from her out of care, out of the desire not to scare her away.

Then he was kissing her and there was no more rationalizing or worrying, or any thought at all.

She didn't remember the drive back to his place, or stumbling up the path to his apartment, waiting while he fumbled with the door. It was smaller than Shepard's, she dimly noted; only one room. She didn't notice the worsening of the storm or the howling of the wind. She shoved him inside and hit the door switch, where it latched behind her.

They froze in the dark, suspended by equal parts desire and indecision. She could run away, still. If she really wanted to, she could lurch out into the storm and wander until she found the main building or her apartment – whichever she stumbled on first. She could hide from this, from him.

She didn't want to run and hide. She peeled his soaking shirt off slowly, relishing each inch of skin she revealed. He shivered under her seeking, trailing fingers, or maybe from the cold. His skin, _oh god_. The taunt lines of him, the solid feel of him under her hands. He kissed her again, this one a question, and she returned it as best she could without knowing the answer.

She was breaking all of her rules now, the ones she'd hammered out over the course of her shit-pile life, slumming with those who lived to take. Do not kiss, don't let him undress you, don't let him take control, don't let him whisper endearments to you. Don't do these things and it'll be easier when one of you leaves.

And yet, she disobeyed every single one. She didn't slap away his hands when he pulled off her shirt and flung it away, when his hands chased across the patterns on her skin. She didn't flinch away when he caught her lips with his own, when he whispered '_eres preciosa' _in her hair, his breath warming her neck. She didn't kick or swear when his fingers pulled at the buckle of her pants, pushing them down, when his hands encircled hers as she stepped free of them, bare in a way she'd never been before.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, she protested dimly. It was supposed to be fast and rough and soulless, not like this. She pushed him onto the bed and pinned him in a futile attempt to gain control over the situation, making herself hard and rough so it would be easier when she had to leave. Because god, this was going to backfire. She knew it in her stupid bones, in the pit of her gut, already screaming that this was too much.

But that small rebellion died when she looked down at him; hands running up her thighs, eyes closed, the name of his god on his lips. He was too beautiful, he felt too good. He was too much, and she knew that there was no curing her of this.

And in that naked moment, she didn't care.

She wanted it when he wrapped his arms around her waist and pinned her in a smooth, powerful motion. She wanted it when he kissed her so fiercely that the cut on her lip split open again, when he moved over her, into her, when her hands raked up the trenched scars on his back. She needed it when he brought her up and over, when he moaned into the hollow at her neck, holding her so tightly that it might have hurt in a different place, with another man. But here, she only wanted him to hold her tighter, to fill her more deeply, so that when he obeyed she was fierce in satisfaction and sated need.

He collapsed at her side and his arm draped over her, as if even now, even after he'd gotten off he still wanted her near. She realized she was shaking and not from the cold of his apartment. She was too warm. It was as if her bones themselves shuddered from his touch. _Oh shit, _she thought as she looked at him sprawled beside her, every beautiful, powerful line of him.

"Oh, shit!" he said when he looked up her, and she flinched; for a wild second she wondered if he could read her thoughts. But then he spoke again. "Your lip."

"What?"

"You're bleeding all over the place," he said, half-laughing. He leaned over to the cluttered table next to his bed and grabbed a few tissues. "Can I?"

She stared at him, unable to process an answer. Why was he asking? Most men would have started without asking first, thinking themselves very chivalrous and considerate. Scratch that- the men she'd known wouldn't have given two shits about her wounds in the first place. She couldn't think. She didn't realize allowing him would only make it worse. She nodded.

He dabbed at her lip with unbearable tenderness and she tried to hold herself still. She trembled under his hands, his painful care. She couldn't meet his gaze, because it would be much too easy to stay there.

"You cold?" he asked.

"Yeah." She forced a bit of laughter. "You live in a freezer."

"It's better than rooming with a bunch of assholes," he equivocated.

"What, you don't like to share?"

He grinned. "Not with a pile of slobs, no."

She surveyed his shoebox of an apartment. "Pot, meet kettle. I'm sure you'll get along."

"Ha, ha. I have a very organized system of messiness. Doesn't mean I want to deal with someone else's."

"Yeah, I know."

He pulled back the blankets. "You can stay awhile, if you want. Until the storm blows over."

It scared her how badly she wanted to stay, how much she wanted to crawl beneath those covers and stay there, warmed by the feel of him beside her. "Maybe I will," she lied.

He settled next to her and after a while his breathing slowed, deepened into the patterns of sleep. His arm draped around her waist and he pulled himself closer, and god, she wanted to stay. It terrified her how badly she wanted to stay.

She waited until he slept so deeply that he didn't feel her extricate herself from under his arm. She waited until he couldn't hear her slip into her clothes, her coat askew off her shoulders. She waited until she could slip from his apartment into the furious storm beyond without waking him.

And she knew it. She knew from how difficult it was to leave, how much she would have rather stayed there. She knew that her plan had taken the opposite effect; instead of curing herself of her strange fascination of him, it had deepened in the span of a single evening spent in his bed, with his arms around her and his lips on hers.

It wouldn't matter, in the end. She was leaving; he was staying. She'd have to live with her mistake, but she'd be spared the impossibility of facing him, of having to deny him after realizing that was the last thing she wanted to do. She would be spared facing him after realizing it was becoming impossible to deny this sickness.

Even after she slipped into her own apartment, she couldn't sleep. She slid down the wall and huddled there with one shaking hand pressed to her chest. Even hours later, her heart still struck a mystifying rhythm against her ribs, a kind of music she'd never known.

**AN2:**

**I have to confess that I wasn't planning to go this route when I outlined this chapter, but when I started thinking what would be most in character for Jack handling this growing thing with James, this is what I came up with (it's been awhile since I played ME2, but I recall Chambers mentioning Jack approaching sex casually, so I extrapolated from there). Have at it in a review~!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Many special thanks to Anon1, daarb123, REB-ART, Anon2, Karajgil, Dandy in the Aspic, Anon3, stephivass, Sailor Centauri1, jay8008, gracie21, Ellwyndara, CyanB, ebidebi, Lady Seraphina, Preludetoanightmare, ZOMG its Angie, and RussiaFangirl for your awesome reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed! **

**I meant to get this chapter up a few days ago, but AUGH this one fought me you guys.  
**

**Anyways, I love hearing from all of you so please leave me a review and tell me what you thought! Thanks for reading, everyone.  
**

Ever since moving to Vancouver, James struggled with sleeping.

Night sounded different the farther south you went. In San Diego, there was the rustle of waves on the shore, strident voices. Even the bleating of cars stuck in traffic had become soothing, though probably only because it was familiar. Here, he would lie awake with his hands fisted over ears while the wind howled through the rooftops, the sound chillingly reminiscent of Collector ordinance and the ways he'd failed, his haunting crimes. Yet the first time that he was able to sleep through was the night Jack came.

She'd smashed her way in just as she did everything; furiously intent, half-mad. He hadn't known if ultimately she'd beat the crap out of him again or fuck him – in the end, it was neither. She'd been desperate and passionate. She'd been fierce but tender, unguarded. She'd been beautiful beyond anything he'd seen in his life.

In hindsight, he should have known.

He woke slowly the next morning, tangled in his sheets and half sprawled out of the bed. He felt vague and punch-drunk, and it took a few moments to remember what had happened the night before. The storm, Jack, her bright, hard eyes as she pulled him closer. He rolled over and reached for her, but his hands gathered the empty space beside him instead. His eyes shot open.

Bed, empty. Kitchen, empty. Bathroom – he thought he heard the shower for a moment, but instead there was only the howling of the wind through the roof. There was only the slow realization that hope was playing tricks on him, teasing him with what he wanted to hear.

It was hard not to immediately assume the worst. Maybe she thought it had been a mistake and ran away. Even worse, maybe she had planned it like this; use and lose. What business did she have being so tender and intimate if she'd only wanted something casual?

Not like he was a stranger to that kind of arrangement, after all. His experience up to this point had been almost exclusively casual. No strings attached, you get yours, I get mine; we're all happy so let's move on.

He was stupid. Why would it be different? She'd given him no reason to think it would be. Once again, he'd misunderstood. He had that feeling he'd gotten as a kid, learning English after Spanish; the suspicion that he was an irredeemable moron. _No, James; it's 'nothing'. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Don't switch to Spanish because you don't know the words. Try again._

He scrubbed at his face before shuffling off toward the shower, doing his damn best to ignore his increasingly vicious internal critic. It picked at him; nagging, delighting in his pain. It shouted 'told you so' in time with his breathing.

* * *

Jack was not smug.

She thought she might have been. She had planned on how wonderful it would feel without this yoke over her neck, dragging her down. She daydreamed about going back to her old self; that biting, belligerent bitch who picked her teeth with love and laughed at soft things. She'd prepared for the victory, defeating this fascination before it could really take root.

She'd defeated nothing. Instead of triumph, she was wracked by guilt. Guilt! She'd stolen, cheated, and killed to live – all without an ounce of guilt – but apparently all it took was the thought of some earnest moron's crestfallen expression to tangle her traitorous gut into knots.

She knew why, though she would have rather she didn't. It was the realization that he hadn't done anything to deserve being cheated or tricked or used. He'd been understanding and funny. Even worse, he'd been kind to her. His only crime was caring.

And such a crime it was.

Faced with guilt and the nausea that accompanied it (or her hangover; she wasn't sure which), Jack kept to herself. She prepared for the Normandy's departure on her own, slipping into base either too early or too late to be accosted by anyone. She avoided the places she liked, all too aware of James' freakish ability to find her even when she kept her plans a secret. She spoke to Shepard once, to confirm her transfer to the Normandy and the departure.

"Everything all right?" Shepard had asked, alerted by Jack's odd tone.

"Fantastic." Jack said before terminating the call.

The night before departure was probably one of the most uncomfortable nights Jack could remember. She tossed and turned for a few hours before giving up on sleep altogether, camping out in front of the TV with a beer in hand. She thought that maybe the smoothly inflectionless voices of the reporters would put her to sleep, but instead they irritated. Dry and controlled, perfectly measured cadences; like goddamn machines rather than people. She remembered another voice whispered in her hair, the desire trembling through it, and bit the inside of her cheek so hard it bled.

She wanted to go to a bar and wait, secure in the knowledge that he'd show up, just as always. She wanted to see him one more time before she left for who knows how long, though he'd probably be pissed at her for leaving without a word. She would have been pissed in his shoes, without question. She was confronted with the eventuality of not seeing him at all, and it registered surprisingly as pain.

What a fucking job. She wasn't cured at all; if anything, this sickness buzzing through her bones had become worse. Now instead of speculation, she was faced with memory, and how powerful those memories were! Just as powerful as his hands, his touch. Just as powerful as his words and the actions that echoed them.

It was for the best, she decided. Distance and time would cut this deformity out of her heart. No use seeking him out now. Even if he would have her, there was no use adding more memories to the ones that already had crawled beneath her skin.

By the time morning finally rolled around, she was exhausted and irritated. She threw a haphazard pile of belongings into a duffel – some books, a few changes of clothes, a few cartons of cigarettes – and left her shitbox of an apartment behind her.

She knew full well that she was running away. She'd have felt raw about it, if doing so hadn't become so necessary to her survival. Oh, maybe that was dramatic. It wasn't like he was out to kill her (not yet, anyway). But she was thinking of survival of a different kind. It centered on the instinctive knowledge that this man was in a unique position to hurt her worse than anyone had before. She wasn't about to lie back and let that happen.

She allowed herself to be processed through security passively. Her name was checked off a list and her identification documents (legally declaring her to be a 'Jacqueline Nought') were scanned and accepted without much ritual or fanfare.

She made her way to the hanger as if in some kind of haze.

The Normandy loomed above her, dwarfing the personnel overseeing last-minute provisioning. They'd slapped a fresh coat of paint on her and hammered out the dings. You'd never know by looking at it that the ship had survived multiple hull breeches and a fuel tank explosion. Jack felt a grudging respect for Kaidan, then; he was boring and upright, but if he could keep a crew together under those conditions, maybe he wasn't so bad.

Shepard was the first person she saw when she came aboard. Already, she was storming the decks like a windup toy that never ran out of steam; briefing the navigators, badgering Joker, planning the route. She brightened when she saw Jack.

"Jack," she said, nodding.

"Captain."

"Running a bit late, are we?"

"Shut up."

Shepard didn't say anything for a moment as she watched Jack rub at her raw eyes. "Walk with me for a bit," she said. Already on the Normandy, she'd forgotten how to ask a question. On this piece of tin, her orders were obeyed.

"Yes, ma'am." Jack snapped her heels together and brought her hand up in the most insouciant salute ever to be offered to a commanding officer and not be punished.

"You look pretty rough. Where you been the last few days?"

"Getting my shit together," Jack said promptly.

"Have you slept at all since I saw you last?"

"Jesus, Shepard. You're not my mother." She fidgeted a bit. "I don't know."

Shepard led her away from the CIC, an obscenely concerned look on her face. "You know I know something is wrong."

"Do you? Do you really? Your powers of deduction and reasoning are unmatched," Jack snapped, itching under the deflection.

"All right," Shepard frowned. "Just remember this is an official military installation. It's 'yes ma'am' while we're on duty."

"Yes ma'am."

She ignored the sarcasm. "I set up that spot you liked on the Engineering deck, if you're interested."

Jack instantly felt guilty for being such an ass; even when annoyed, Shepard still managed to be more considerate that most people at their best. "I- thanks," Jack said, cowed. "Where's Major and the squirt?"

"Getting settled. We're off in a half hour. So say your goodbyes, if you haven't already."

"Done and done."

Shepard nodded once and strode off in the direction of the cockpit, probably to continue her discussion with Joker. Jack wasn't on the up and up with most social ritual, but she was observant when she wanted to be, and there was definitely a degree of stiffness between the Captain and the pilot. It was strange, considering their easy camaraderie in the past.

She shuffled to the elevator and punched in the engineering deck. It was strange to be back here. At first glance it was familiar, like a home she hadn't seen in a long time, but the longer she wandered the stranger it seemed. It was different without the old faces – Mordin and Thane, Grunt and Garrus, even the cheerleader.

But the nook under the stairs on the engineering level was exactly as she remembered, down to the military issue cot and camp blankets. Even the books and datapads she'd left behind were still here. It was unlikely the Alliance had left things as messy as she liked them, so the only explanation was that Shepard remembered how she preferred her space and set it up.

Why not add another layer to the canvas of guilt she cultivated? She was an asshole to the people that were good to her. She couldn't say she was worse to them than the people who fucked her over, but there was a disconnect. She couldn't stop expecting the worst and reverting to being a bitch as a preemptive means of defense. Stupid, but nothing doing at this point.

Jack flopped down on her cot and folded her hands behind her head. Oh, she was used to being the asshole. Sometimes, it could even be fun; speaking her mind without giving a shit about the consequences. But she couldn't escape the sick feeling in her gut, the guilt churning there like a forge. It was awful to leave him without saying anything. It was awful to use him in an attempt to get over him. But at this point, this was a matter of survival.

There was some writer or another who had said anything could be forgiven with enough alcohol to lubricate the process. Jack had liked the idea at one time, but now it seemed infantile.

She hid in her makeshift quarters, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. The buzz of the engines shuddered under her feet and not long after she felt them lift off, the subtle changing in pressure as they hurtled through the atmosphere and into the void. There were no windows down here, which was a relief; otherwise she'd have pressed her face to one and watched the planet fade into nothing more than a pale dot in the distance.

She woke a few hours later, disoriented. For a moment she thought she was back in James' bed, naked and tousled and bare, and the thought had sent her heart racing. It was both a relief and a disappointment to see that she was on the Normandy instead, sprawled over her cot with her arm over her eyes.

Grudgingly, she rolled to her feet and took the stairs to the elevator two at a time. She was on duty now, and therefore expected to be at her best. She could get away with surviving on cigarettes, cheap beer, and bar nuts while on her own time, but now her biotics needed to be ready to go, and that meant eating a ridiculous amount of real food at regular intervals.

She hit the elevator and waited, rubbing her raw eyes as the door hissed open. She was halfway inside when she looked up and met a pair of startlingly familiar hazel eyes. She stared at James and he stared at her, oblivious to the incredulity of the man next to him.

It took her a moment to realize the expression on his face wasn't shock. He'd been expecting her. He'd known she would be on the ship. He'd thought – oh fucking _hell._

Well, she'd fucked things up pretty good. It was almost a relief to feel furious once again, like putting on a well-worn jacket that molded itself to her body like a second skin. Like picking up a gun she knew better than her own hands. She lurched forward and grabbed him by his arm, yanking him out of the elevator.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she hissed as the doors closed behind them.

"You know, you ask me that question every time you see me," James said. "And it comes in two flavors; surprised and pissed. Why are you surprised?"

She struggled ineffectually for the words that would properly encapsulate her distress. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be on that sad, pale dot in the void, somewhere where he couldn't burrow any deeper into her. "I didn't know you'd be here!"

Something closed behind his eyes. "Ah. I get it."

"Get what?"

"I was wondering what the deal was. Drag me off for a fuck then sneak out and fall off the face of the earth. Did you think you wouldn't see me again so what the hell, why not take what you want?"

She recoiled. Is that what he really thought? Well fine. Let him have that sharp lie; maybe it would be better if he believed it. "Yeah, something like that."

"Sorry to have screwed up your plans," he as he pulled away, his expression remote.

It stunned her how upsetting his reaction was, especially since she knew she deserved it. In the face of this, she chose her standard defense; alienation. "What?" she laughed cruelly. "Did you think it was something else?"

He said nothing, his eyes sharp and lips angling downward.

"What could have possibly given you that idea?"

"You said it was exactly what I thought it was," he said in a low voice.

"Then I guess there must have been some confusion," Jack said dismissively.

"Dammit, Jack! I was there! I saw you. You don't fuck a person like that if you're only in it for the casual benefits," he finally snapped.

"And you would know, would you?"

"Yeah, actually," he retorted. "I would."

"How did I fuck you, Vega? What did I do that gave you the wrong idea?"

She waited for him to answer but he seemed to have been rendered speechless, glaring down at her with livid, piercing eyes.

"No answer? Let me tell you something I thought was pretty obvious. I'm not looking for a big strong man to fix me, to teach me the ways of love and whatever. I was looking for a fuck with an attractive man, and I got one. If you want some kind of meaningful connection, you are barking up the wrong tailpipe because I can't- I-I won't do it."

She knew the moment she saw his furious expression shift to shocked solicitude that she'd said too much. Instead of kicking him out she'd all but shown him the way in, the treacherous path to what they both wanted. She pulled away. "I won't," she said again, more forcefully.

She spun and lurched in the opposite direction before he could reply, desperately ignoring the sickly thudding of her heart.

* * *

James didn't see Jack again for four days.

He once thought he'd had a pretty solid grasp of the Normandy and its hiding places, but Jack soon proved this assumption wrong. She all but disappeared, which was a pretty solid accomplishment considering they were all crammed on a frigate with a limited number of places to hide.

Not that he looked all too hard, if he was being honest.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit pissed. Mostly at himself, but there it was. The situation was stupid, he was stupid, his nosy friend was stupid. Esteban had only been able to keep his mouth shut for a few hours before asking questions.

"So . . ." he had said in what he probably imagined was a very casual tone. "Who was that?"

James hadn't even known how to answer the question. 'A friend' seemed like optimistic reaching, at best. 'Someone I fucked' was technically the truth, though it felt like a lie. "That's Jack," he said finally, tone dull.

"She always look that scary?"

"Only when talking to me."

And that was all he had to say for Esteban to understand the situation completely. "That's rough," he commiserated.

James ignored this, leaning over the weapons bench and expertly adjusting the scope on his rifle. "Have you seen the action on the new Mattock?" he asked instead, and they both let the previous subject drop.

He quickly adjusted to the new routine and threw himself headfirst in his duties; primary, maintaining the armory. He'd always been the type of person who was calmed by physical, tactile work, taking things apart and putting them back together. Easy, mindless. It was better than the alternative, anyway; acknowledging the vicious internal critic that mocked the things he'd deliberately never admitted to himself.

Something she had said, though . . . she'd said 'I can't' first, and the way she'd said it was almost apologetic, wounded. He wondered if things weren't exactly the way she said, then. He knew she lied, and he assumed the lies were less because they amused her and more because of the need to defend against the world.

Well, who was he kidding? It's not like any of this speculation meant anything. Against all logic or survival instinct, he was fascinated, enthralled. Even now.

As far as he understood, their mission involved finding trouble in the Terminus and figuring out if it was connected to anything, so with that in mind Shepard's first decision was to set a course for Omega. Illium may be the gateway to the Terminus, but as far as he was concerned Omega was its stinking, rotting heart. He couldn't fault Shepard's judgment, but he didn't exactly have the best memories of the place.

Though he couldn't deny they had led to better things.

On the fourth evening, he was about to drift off when he heard the unmistakable sound of the engines stalling, the pitch reducing from a rumble to a faint whine. He wondered for a moment if they had reached Omega already before remembering that it look at least six days via relay to get that deep into the Terminus.

He was in the middle of pulling on a shirt when the intercom buzzed. "_James, Jack; get your gear and meet me at the airlock," _said Shepard, sounding utterly exhausted. Up with Hannah, he knew. "_We've got a situation."_

He was good with orders. Not that he was a mindless grunt or anything, but he was enough of a soldier to appreciate a good directive. And in this case, an order to clean the hull of the ship naked would have been an improvement to his current situation. He armed and armored without really thinking about it, checking his guns and armor through force of habit.

The CIC was tense; a few navigators whispered among themselves and Traynor hunched over her terminal, looking wan. "What's going on?" he asked her.

"We picked up an automated distress signal," she said promptly. "It's an Alliance ship, went missing a few weeks ago. We're offering assistance."

Something pricked at the back of his neck; unease, maybe. "Got it."

Shepard was waiting at the airlock with her arms crossed over her chest, her jaw steel-cable tight. Behind her, Kaidan was quietly conferring with Joker as the latter brought them in. She didn't react as the Normandy shuddered through the docking protocol, but he saw her throat working as she watched out a window. Was she nervous? "Captain," he said, clearing his throat.

"Lieutenant," she said as she turned away from the window. "We picked up a distress call from the SSV Antietam a few minutes ago. Standard rescue protocol."

"Right," he echoed, frowning. "Kind of weird for a frigate to be floating this far out in the middle of nowhere, don't you think?"

"That had occurred to me," she agreed. "In an out nice and quick, then."

"Yeah."

They didn't have to wait long for Jack to materialize. She strode to the airlock with a shotgun in hand, primed and itching for a fight. Her gaze was sharp and her lips pressed together in a forbidding line; her gaze was an open challenge. He wasn't in the mood to give her one (even if the situation had been appropriate).

Yeah, he was still angry. Mostly at himself. Yeah, the turn of events was ridiculous – like the afternoon dramas his aunt used to watch when he was little. But goddammit if she wasn't insanely gorgeous, even when looking as if she'd like nothing more than to crush him like a bug. Any other person would have been put off at this point, but James was anything but.

Maybe he really was an irredeemable moron.

The Normandy shuddered once more with an air of finality, and they filed into the airlock, one at a time. He saw Shepard flinch as the doors closed behind them, the sound of metal scraping on metal much too loud for the vacuum of space. She shook it away and forced open the frigate's airlock with a shunt program from her Omni-tool.

"Stay sharp," she whispered as they entered the crippled frigate. It was completely dark, but even more strange was how still and silent it was; no whir of the vents as they distributed oxygen, no dull rumble of the engines. In front of him, Shepard switched the light on her pistol and ventured further into the gloom.

He saw Jack's eyes tighten. "Doubt we're going to find any survivors, Shepard," she said. "No oxygen, no pressure. Someone vented this bucket."

"I don't know," James said." There wasn't any structural damage. The airlocks weren't busted, and we didn't find any breaches earlier."

"He's right," Shepard said, scanning a console with her Omni-tool. "It looks like someone shut down the air and pressure via bridge override."

Jack fidgeted as she looked around. "This stinks to hell, Shepard."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed. "Normandy?"

"_We read you," _Kaidan said.

"It looks like some kind of sabotage from where I'm standing; air's been shut off, no survivors, no bodies. I'm getting the logs off the bridge and then we can get the hell out of here." She forced open another stuck door with her Omni-tool. "Prepare for departure."

"_Aye, Captain."_

The SSV Antietam was one of the smaller frigates in Alliance employ, so it did not take long to make their way to the bridge. Yet even though they were careful to check the corners and bunks, they didn't find bodies or any evidence at all that the ship had once been manned by people. It was as if they'd all picked up and left in the middle of their duties.

James was normally pretty good with focus and protocol. He'd kept his head during missions that had defeated decorated servicemen (though the fallout was another thing all together) and on the field his thought process became more instinctual, more reactive; see a threat, neutralize a threat. Easy. But he'd be lying if he said Jack's presence on this particular mission wasn't somewhat distracting.

It wasn't that she was beautiful, or that they were arguing. (When weren't they arguing, honestly?) It was that the situation on this frigate gave him that weird feeling on the back of his neck, the feeling that something is going to go really wrong, really quick, and he worried for her. She could acquit herself better than a lot of guys he'd served with, undoubtedly. She was probably the toughest person he knew, and it made no sense to worry.

It was a purely instinctual reaction, and he listened to his instincts.

When they made it to the bridge, Shepard went to work immediately. She attempted to activate systems in a precise cascade, frowning as the console blipped in response. "Most of these systems have been completely severed," she noted. "Life support is shot, environmental suites are down. They'd have to tow this bird home."

"Any word on what might have happened?" James asked her.

"No," Shepard said. "The logs cut off before power was lost. There's no mention of what might have happened."

Jack drummed her fingers over the barrel of her gun. "I think we should get the hell out of here, Shepard."

"Yeah, I got a weird feeling," James agreed. "I don't think we're going to find anything."

Shepard didn't say anything for a moment, frowning down at the console. "All right. Let's get out of here."

They were halfway to the airlock when there was a loud bang, distorting so badly in his auditory emulation program that he nearly dropped his gun. The floor shuddered under their feet as the sound shifted to an awful scraping of metal on metal, and then the ship gave one mighty lurch and was still. "Normandy! Status report!" Shepard barked.

"_The airlock on your end locked and disengaged!" _Kaidan said frantically. "_Some kind of failsafe, maybe?"_

"There shouldn't be anyone here to activate it." Shepard frowned. "Standby."

A pause, then panicked voices. "_Negative, Captain; we've got something on ladar!" _ Joker said.

"Friendlies?"

"_They're not responding to hails. . . shit. They're engaging!"_

"It's a fucking trap," Jack hissed, cocking her shotgun.

"Take them down," Shepard commanded. "Don't wait around for us- the airlock will take too long to reengage."

"_Aye, Captain."_

Shepard checked her pistol, eyes hard, and he saw that her hands were shaking. "Form up on me," she said. "Keep your eyes open."

"Aye, Captain."

They bunkered down by the airlock and took cover behind some cargo strewn over the floor. Shepard didn't have to say anything, but they all knew that she was thinking of Kaidan and her child on the ship. She was thinking how easy it would be for one stray shot to blow the whole thing to hell. For the first time in days, Jack met James' gaze, and it wasn't tight with anger or temper or irritation. It was concern, even solicitude in her eyes. Inappropriately, he found her beautiful all over again.

Without warning, Shepard fired her pistol three times and someone screamed before slumping to the ground. He had enough time to bring his rifle up before the room erupted into blaster fire, singeing the crates and screaming over his head. "Get the fuck down!" Shepard screamed, hurling one of the assailants into the wall with so much force he could hear bones crunch.

But Jack either couldn't hear the command or flat out ignored it. Her skin glowed with biotic energy so that if he'd been glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, he wouldn't have seen anything but a bright, purple flame, illuminating the faces of those she was about to kill. She hurtled forward like a bullet from a gun and smashed into the wall of assailants. She dispatched one with a biotic kick that broke his neck before spinning and blasting another pair with her shotgun.

The light off her skin made it easy to find targets. He was no biotic, that was for sure, but he wasn't a tenderfoot either. He was a fucking surgeon with an assault rifle. Adrenaline rendered thinking unnecessary; he existed in a tunnel where there was only action and reaction, a grid where there was only himself, his allies, and his enemies, and he knew exactly where every one of them was.

He was so focused that he barely felt a bolt punch through his armor and blast him high in the shoulder. He was so focused that it was less reaction and more precognition when he blew away a merc that had blasted through Jack's barrier and nailed her in the leg. "Fuck!" she howled, clutching her leg. He leapt from his cover and rushed to her side, spraying the room with covering fire.

Shepard fried the last one with a pulse from her Omni-tool before stepping over the body, furious. "I told you to get the fuck down, Jack," she said angrily, kneeling at her side. "We didn't know what or who we were fighting, and we didn't know the battlefield."

Jack recoiled from her hands, already patching a medi-gel. "Yes ma'am," she said bitterly.

"Can you walk?"

"My leg's still attached, isn't it? Fuck."

Shepard ignored this, turning to James. "Nice shooting."

He tried to ignore Jack's furious expression, burning through the back of his head. "Thanks," he muttered.

Shepard got to her feet and scanned the room for hostiles, kicking aside detritus as she went. Under their feet, the Antietam shuddered. "Normandy, do you read? I need a status report."

No response; not even static. He saw a muscle in Shepard's jaw twitch as she strode over to a console and quickly parsed through data that scrolled too fast for him to read. Her eyes widened as the ship groaned again, louder this time. "God . . ."

"What is it?"

"They rigged the core to explode!" she shouted, sprinting away. "We need to get to the escape pods!"

Jack struggled to her feet, her face etched in harsh lines of pain. She pushed away his hand as the ship shuddered once again, but she was moving too slow, much too slow.

"Grab her!" Shepard commanded, though as he bent to obey Jack pushed him back, furious.

"I don't need his help!"

Whatever bit of control he had over his temper and panic evaporated . "Goddammit, Jack, the ship is going to blow and your leg is busted. Let me help you!" he said angrily.

Her eyes widened. He wouldn't exactly describe Jack's expression as cowed, but she did not argue as he slung her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and pounded after Shepard.

They raced through the Antietam, and his adrenaline made him fast and sharp. He considered it pretty fucking lucky that he'd served on a frigate with a nearly identical layout a few years back. They made it to the pods just as the ship started to groan under the stress, the core shuddering as it collapsed. Jack slid off his shoulders as Shepard forced open the pod door, corralling them inside before hurtling in after them.

They'd barely cleared the launch when the first explosion shook the pod. Behind them, the Antietam crumpled in on itself before combusting like a star in its death throes, hurling matter and light outward. It would have blinded him if he looked, but there was no sound.

No one spoke at first; the danger was still too near. Shepard let out a ragged breath and pressed her head between her knees in an attempt to regulate her breathing. Jack clapped her hands over her leg, blood pooling around her shaking fingers. He watched flickers of pain cross her features, hissing behind clenched teeth. Without speaking , he leaned forward and patched another application of medi-gel over the wound.

"My hero," Jack said. She probably had meant it to be bitter, but her voice sounded weak and breathless instead. Her eyes were wide.

Shepard took another steadying breath. "Normandy, this is Shepard," she spoke into her comm. "We are broadcasting a distress signal via an SSV Antietam escape pod. Do you copy?"

The silence between the three of them was answer enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Huge thanks to HarleyQuinnAddict, sam623, Anon1, Anon2, ZOMG its Angie, RussiaFangirl, stephivass, Anon3, CreatedInFyre7, Dandy in the Aspic, Karajgil, GahoCleric, gracie21, CyanB, jay8008, ebidebi, and Ellwyndara for your amazing reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed.**

**Gah. So this chapter took too long because 1. I've become addicted to tumblr and 2. writing about character fighting really bums me out. I hope the wait was worth it!  
**

**I love hearing from you all, so please leave me a review and tell me what you liked and what you'd like to see! Thanks so much for reading, everyone.  
**

It was like some kind of perverse transitive déjà vu. Jack knew Shepard had done this before, with a few very deliberate changes.

She wasn't flailing in the void like last time; there was a shell of reinforced alloys a meter thick keeping them relatively safe. She wasn't alone; she and James sat across from Shepard, watching her press her head between her knees, gasping. The blasted ship behind her was the Antietam, not the Normandy. But the panic must have been the same; that sharp feeling that the breath is being crushed out of your lungs by a giant fist.

"Normandy, this is Shepard. Please respond," she shouted into her comm, but there was no answer. She pressed her head between her knees with her hands locked behind her neck, and Jack could hear her shuddering gasps, clearly losing her battle against the panic.

Jack momentarily forgot her wounded leg and how fucking _angry _she was at James and their situation, how irritating and yet exciting it was to be so close. She reached for Shepard's shoulder and leaned closer. "It's all right, Shepard," she said. "You're all right."

The shuttle groaned as the propulsion systems protested loudly, and Jack quickly realized they'd been hit by a piece of debris when they made their escape. She felt Shepard flinch at the sound, shuddering.

"What's wrong with her?" "James asked her quietly.

The subtle feeling of uselessness curdled at his words and Jack rounded on him, her expression fierce. "You think you'd fare better after getting spaced?"

"No!" Shepard cut in, hand to her chest. "I'm fine. I'm fine." She sounded as if she was desperately trying to convince herself most of all, jumping as the pod groaned again.

The silence was undercut by the banging and scraping of the pod, and Jack clearly heard the rudimentary propulsion systems choking before sputtering out completely. "Shit," she cursed under her breath. If any of those merc ships came back, they were sitting ducks.

This was not lost on Shepard. Her hands curled against her legs, clawlike even in gauntlets, and Jack saw her clench her eyes shut. "Normandy, this is Shepard. We are in need of immediate assistance. Please respond."

But Jack could only hear a faint crackling in response, and her stomach twisted like a sodden rag, making it hard to speak or breathe. Anger was her instinctive reaction to loss, and if anyone had hurt or killed Hannah, she would beat them to death with their own spines, choke the life out of them with their own intestines. If anyone had broken that little family before it could really begin, she would make them pay.

"Shit," James muttered at her side.

"Shut up!" she hissed. Acknowledging the looming possibility was the worst thing they could do for Shepard. She knew that stubborn woman's mind, the way it was like a well-laid wall until something broke through, and then even her incredible will couldn't fight off insidious fears. She'd seen it in action the day Shepard had given birth, the way she'd almost succumbed to panic.

She'd defeated it in the end, but not without help. Jack was not thrilled with the idea of pulling Shepard close and forcefully reminding her of herself – not with James and his uncomfortable ability to see too much – so she decided on a different tactic; distraction.

"You going to fix your shoulder?" she asked James sharply. She caught his gaze and there was a moment of wordless communication between the two of them – an immediate understanding that she'd never experienced before. He instantly knew. And it didn't matter that they were angry at each other and that at the moment, Jack would have preferred not to interact with him at all.

"There's nothing wrong with my shoulder," he retorted, jerking away.

"I saw you get nailed, James," she insisted. "Right here." She pressed two fingers over the wound on his shoulder, narrowing her eyes when he hissed in pain.

"_¡Carajo! _It's nothing, dammit." He jerked away from her.

"You don't have to play the tough man," she badgered. "What is it you said? Ah, right – let me help you, James." She twisted the words mockingly, so they were less a real request to help and more an insult.

"Jack; knock it off," Shepard said wearily. "James; let her fix your shoulder." Already, she seemed less panicked just as Jack had known would happen; put a problem in front of Shepard and like a dutiful machine she would abandon any other thought to try and fix it.

Jack wasn't interested in letting the situation be fixed, because then Shepard would go back to panicking. She dug in, activating her Omni-tool and queuing up an application of medi-gel. "Pretty careless of you," she said in an offhand way. "Taking dumb chances, trying to be a fucking hero. Nice work."

The flash of anger in his eyes was genuine, which surprised her. "You want to talk about careless, look in the mirror."

"Excuse me?"

"Charging around like you think you're invincible or something, and you're actually surprised when some _mamagüeva _busts your barrier and shoots out your leg," he said harshly, and it shocked her how much the accusation stung. "It was reckless and stupid."

Temper blurred her thoughts. "You don't get a vote in how I conduct myself," she hissed. "If you think I'm reckless, you're just going to have to swallow whatever enlightening things you have to say on the subject."

"I'm pretty sure I don't need your permission to make an observation," he retorted.

She'd never seen or heard him like this. He was usually so affable and understanding that it annoyed her, but this was something else altogether; he was angry. He had full reason to be, she reminded herself. She'd wanted this, she reminded herself. So why was it so upsetting?

"How about you keep your observations to yourself?" she bit back, unnerved and furious all at once. The pod shuddered around them once again but she almost didn't even hear it; her gaze was fixed on his narrowed, furious eyes. She couldn't see his mouth, obscured as it was by his helmet, but she imagined those sensuous lips she hated loving mashed together.

"Whatever you want," he said, his tone twisting bitterly. "Isn't that right?"

Her jaw dropped. What a fucking asshole! Right in front of Shepard, too; like she wasn't even there, like they were alone so they could say whatever they wanted. "Yeah, that's right," she snapped. "Glad we've got that covered."

"All right," Shepard finally cut in, and Jack was too angry to be gratified that Shepard seemed to have gained control over her panic. "Cram it, the both of you. Jack; fix his shoulder," she said as she got to her feet and climbed over the both of them.

"What are you doing?"

Shepard hunched in front of the control console, activating her Omni-tool so the light reflected weirdly in her faceplate. "I'm going to try and see if I can fix the propulsion systems."

While Shepard fretted over the console, muttering under her breath, Jack turned back to James. He was looking at her, of course; pissed and irritated and something else – afraid, maybe? She told herself she didn't care enough to find out.

Deciding to get it the hell over with, she patched the application of medi-gel over his shoulder, taking special care to avoid any other interaction. They were both armored and helmeted with only a narrow band of features visible, but looking into his eyes was more than enough to screw with her control.

That was the infuriating part. All he had to do was _look _at her now and she felt that sick, traitorous fire burn in her gut, that fire that turned her body against itself. It upset her to know that no matter how angry she got at him, it didn't make a damn bit of difference.

Against her better judgment, she glanced at him. His jaw was tight – against the pain or the irritation, she didn't know – but he was watching her with that look she was growing to love and hate in equal measure. She realized it wasn't temper or irritation anymore, but longing, wistfulness . . . want. And she knew it right in the core of her gut that it was the same for them; even when mad enough to beat the hell out of him, there was still this sickness.

She knew instinctually that avoidance was no solution, not in these conditions. Crammed together on the same assignment, continually bumping into each other. If she was going to lance this man out of her heart, she needed to find a different way to do it. She swallowed and pulled away, avoiding his gaze.

Abruptly, Shepard recoiled from the console and clambered over their knees, stumbling a bit over James. "Shit," she hissed. "Shit!"

"What?" James asked.

"The merc ships just came out of FTL," she told them, voice shaking. "I don't see the Normandy."

"Fuck . . ."

"I need you guys to strap in. I'm going to try and sneak us away," Shepard said briskly. They were both quick to obey, pulling the seat bars down over their heads and against their chests, waiting. Jack realized her hands were shaking.

She felt the pod shift as Shepard eased it along, keeping emissions low enough so they wouldn't show up on any scanners. On the viewscreen she watched the two merc ships buzzing slowly through the system like two carrion birds sniffing out a meal. Behind them was the wreck of the Antietam, chunks of it floating sadly in the vacuum. Maybe they'd see the wreckage and leave.

Ultimately, that was a vain hope. The two ships began drifting toward them instead of resuming their aimless sweep of the system, and Jack realized they'd been spotted. "Shit!" Shepard hissed again. "Oh, shit, shit! Normandy, this is Shepard! We are in desperate need of assistance; please respond ASAP!"

The only response was only static, though louder than it was before. The pod lurched as Shepard activated the propulsion systems in earnest, sending them hurtling through space as fast as possible (which was still pretty slow, with escape pod propulsion technology being as shitty as it was).

The auditory emulator crackled when one of the ships sent a volley of cannon fire at them, and Shepard only just managed to evade the attack, pulling hard on the yaw. "Goddammit," she choked. "Anytime now, Normandy!"

One hit would obliterate them; that much was clear. If Shepard miscalculated by even a hair of an inch, they'd be nothing more than chunks of blasted metal and meat spinning out in the void. Jack had a lot of time to consider death – fuck, at one point she'd even actively sought it – but now she realized as her heart twisted in her chest that she didn't want to die, and she didn't want these assholes to die either. The thought of Shepard dead, or James blasted to hell filled her with so much rage that she actually choked on it, biting her cheek so hard it bled.

She met James' gaze and instinctively knew that they shared this. She watched his hands ball into tight fists as the pod shuddered around them, alarms blaring, and she knew the same anger that was in his eyes; the fury that this was over and the last things they'd ever say to each other were sniping untruths, fashioned only to wound.

* * *

The mercs had ambushed them with five ships, but now only two remained. Kaidan stood over Joker's shoulder with his hands on the intercom, relaying orders as the situation changed, and he dimly marveled at how Joker seemed to anticipate his commands, how he instinctively knew where to go and where to hide, where to double down and where to strike. It wasn't that this was new—they'd all seen Joker in action many times, but it never failed to amaze.

The third ship exploded in a conflagration of molten hull parts laced with the destroyed eezo core, and Kaidan grit his teeth. "Let's finish them off," he commanded. "Divert power to the main battery."

"Aye, Major," came the call from CIC.

But before they could engage, the two ships engaged FTL and jumped away, one right after the other. Kaidan didn't miss a beat. "Follow them, Joker."

"Aye." Joker didn't miss a beat either; they were hurtling through the system via FTL before the rest of the CIC could otherwise react; he heard the navigators bleating in frustration as they struggled to compensate for the sudden course change.

Kaidan kept his thoughts a cool, airless place. He couldn't avoid thinking about Shepard, trapped on the Antietam, or their daughter, bundled in their cabin with Dr. Chakwas standing guard, but he had taught himself to ignore speculation. There was only the here and now; anything else was a distraction. If he thought of losing Shepard, he would lose control of the situation, and that was the last thing he would allow to happen while in a position of command.

"Major, I'm not getting any sign of the Antietam on scanners," Joker cut in, parsing through the data on his console. "It's . . . shit."

"What?"

"It's gone," he breathed. "It's been destroyed."

"Check the surrounding area. They might have gotten out on an escape pod," Kaidan said quickly, though it felt like his heart had stopped beating altogether. _Not again, _he begged. _God, please not again. _

"I don't – wait, I see something!" Joker pulled them around. "One life pod, three life signs. They're – shit."

He didn't have to elaborate; Kaidan saw the other two merc ships clearly as day, opening fire on the defenseless pod. Whoever was piloting the thing was doing an admirable job of avoiding the attacks, considering the scanners showed the pod propulsion systems were failing. "Get their attention, Joker," Kaidan said in a hard voice.

"Gladly," Joker replied. He sent a volley of fire toward the ship closest to the little pod. They'd exited FTL much too quickly for the mercs to react, and Joker managed to get one good shot in, right in the engines. The ship burst like an overripe fruit hitting the ground, sending flaming wreckage ricocheting over its comrade.

The last merc ship cut their losses and ran, activating their FTL drives and hurtling away into the void, leaving a faint trail of eezo in their wake. Joker craned around. "Want to pursue?"

"No," Kaidan said. "Get that pod aboard."

"Aye, Major."

It took twenty minutes to maneuver the pod aboard, considering that its propulsion systems were failing and the wreckage of the Antietam and the merc ships alike were making a difficult navigation prospect even more challenging. Kaidan waited with his arms crossed over his chest and tried to keep himself upright, unaffected. She was on the other side of those doors, he knew, and yet he wouldn't feel the knot of fear loosen until he saw her with his own eyes, held her in his arms.

The pod doors opened and an exhausted Shepard hopped down, her faced smudged and hair in disarray. Behind her, Jack and James followed suit, the latter thudding on the deck and looking as if he'd aged a decade.

Shepard didn't miss a beat. "Jack, James; both of you get the hell to the med bay and wait for Dr. Chakwas," she said as she pried off her helmet and breast plate. "Cortez; get this to Traynor." She passed him an OSD. "See what she can make of it."

"Aye, ma'am," they all said before retreating, though Jack looked as if she would have liked to argue.

Kaidan stepped forward and saluted. "Captain."

"Major. Nice work," she said brusquely. And it had been, he knew; he'd had plenty of time to get used to the stress of operating in life or death command situations.

"What happened?"

She frowned as she unlatched the buckles on her armor. "There were some mercs on the Antietam, waiting. It was an ambush or something. We managed to get them, but they rigged the core to explode. Had to get out."

"Are you hurt?" he asked carefully.

"No. I'm – I'm tired."

He knew she was lying but he didn't press her. As she stowed her armor and checked her guns, he ordered Joker to resume the night watch for what little of it remained – a few hours, at the most. They piled into the elevator and when he put his hand over hers, he felt her trembling.

Dr. Chakwas looked up when they entered the cabin. She rubbed her eyes and stood, leaning a bit on Hannah's crib as though she might fall otherwise. "Captain, Major," she said.

"There are two bickering children in the medbay that need some medical attention," Shepard said wearily. "Could you handle it before you turn in?"

"Of course."

Shepard leaned over the crib, her hand hovering over Hannah's brow. "How is she?"

"She's fine," Dr. Chakwas said in a warm voice. "She . . . well, she slept through the whole thing."

Shepard's eyes were suddenly very bright, and she pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. Kaidan cleared his throat. "Thank you, Karin," he said as he ushered her to the door. "We appreciate this."

"Well, of course," Dr. Chakwas said, though a bit taken aback. "She's a sweetheart."

"She is," Kaidan agreed. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"You as well." The doors latched shut behind the doctor with an air of finality, and Kaidan activated the locks before rushing back to Shepard side, who was losing the fight against whatever emotion she struggled against. He made to put his arms around her but to his surprise she flinched away.

"What is it?" he whispered.

She didn't respond, and he wondered for a long moment that the look in her eyes was anger, but then she was crushing her lips to his and he lost the train of what he'd meant to tell her. This was telling enough; her desperation, the way her hands were hard and demanding as they pulled at his uniform, his hair, latching behind his neck. He succumbed because he had known this fear too; the sick feeling that they might be separated before it was right, that they might never be able to do this again.

It was the loss of control that made this so exhilarating and inevitable. He'd spent the last hours keeping careful command over what he thought and said. He'd pushed away thoughts of Shepard and his daughter, of their mission, of what was expected of them in favor of the immediate moment. So this felt like losing a layer of skin. It was an odd freedom when they collapsed onto the bed and relished in each other; how vital and beautiful and alive they were.

After, Shepard curled into his side and buried her face against his neck, and he felt her heart beating through her skin. He gently pushed her hair off her brow and pressed his lips there. "You going to tell me what's bothering you now?"

She didn't respond at first. "I – I thought— I thought you were dead," she said hoarsely. "You and Hannah. We tried contacting you and there was no response, and I just started thinking 'oh god- they're gone'. And I couldn't stop thinking it. And it felt like I was suffocating in the vacuum again – the way you suck in a breath but you don't feel like you got any air? I was choking on my own panic, and I couldn't get away from it."

She huddled closer to him, and he felt her trembling again. "And I'm just so _sick _at myself. I've never panicked on a mission. I choked on Mars, but that was different. That was only a few seconds, and this was . . . I don't even know. I felt like I was having a heart attack. A real, literal heart attack, like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest.

"I don't know what's happened to me," she admitted. "I never used to panic, not outwardly. I mean, I felt things, but mostly in a shitty situation I'd just get angry and that would carry me through. But here . . . it was awful. It was _weak," _she hissed viciously.

"Shepard," he said and he framed her face between his hands. "You know you're not weak."

"Do I? Let me ask you this, Kaidan; how did you react to this situation? Be honest," she commanded when she saw his expression shift to discomfort. "You handled it with aplomb, right?"

He fidgeted. "I wouldn't say I handle anything with aplomb."

"Forget that you're modest and just give me a straight answer."

He threw up his hands. "No, I didn't panic. Yes, I kept my head. But who knows how I might have reacted in your situation, with your experiences. It was similar to the first Normandy, wasn't it? Don't you think that might have had an effect?"

"Sure, I guess. It shouldn't, though. I should be able to just muscle through, like before. It shouldn't be this hard."

"Shepard . . ."

"What."

He paused, considering the phrasing. "It's easier to just blast through a situation when you have no experience. You're not an eighteen year old recruit anymore, smashing her way fearlessly through basic. You're not twenty-two, single-handedly saving Elysium with no back up and no reinforcements. You're –"

"I'm old," she said, arching a brow.

"You're _older," _he corrected delicately. "You have context now. You know how things can go wrong, and how bad it stings when it does. It was easier fighting your way off a dying ship before you knew what it felt like to suffocate in the vacuum, wasn't it?"

She considered. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's kind of an occupational hazard, though. I can't be freaking the hell out every time I get pushed into a situation that reminds me of – of the bad things." She looked up at him suddenly. "How do you do it?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. You had to live with me dying. How do you go into these situations where that could happen again and not lose it?"

He thought about it. "I . . . just try to keep my focus on the here and now. I don't let myself speculate. I try not to, anyway. It's easier said than done."

"Tell me about it," Shepard muttered.

"Well, listen. You weren't panicking when we brought you back. How did you bring it under control?"

"Well, I had to fix the propulsion system and steer the pod. That required a lot of focus." Shepard's lips twisted; not quite a grin, but close. "And . . . Jack and James were arguing. Something weird's going on between them. Jack's even pricklier now; she all but jumped down his throat any chance she got."

"Really?"

"I'd swear on it. If I didn't know any better, I'd think something happened."

"Something probably did. You know he adores her."

"Why do you sound so skeptical?" she accused. "Don't you see it?"

"I don't know her as well as you do," he equivocated. "I don't know."

"Hm. Think they might need the regs talk."

"That's all yours, Captain. I am not going anywhere near that one."

She craned around to stare at him accusingly. "What if I order you to? You're my XO, you know. You have to carry out my orders to the best of your ability."

"That order would be well beyond my abilities," he replied, smirking. "Best if you handle it."

"Right." She settled deeply in his arms, her sigh warming his chest, her hair tickling his neck. He ran his hands up and down the length of her back until she drifted off to sleep. It was many hours later when Hannah woke, but before Shepard could hear her fussing he extricated himself and made his way to the crib, scooping Hannah up in his arms.

He watched Shepard curl around the place he'd been, her hands fisting in the sheets, her brow knitted against what she saw in her dreams.

* * *

As a general rule, Jack hated hospitals and medbays. She hated doctors. She hated the medical profession. She tolerated medi-gel because it meant avoiding hospitals and doctors. And she really hated the smug asshole sitting on the gurney across from her and his disgustingly well-cut chest.

At the doctor's instruction, he pulled off his shirt while she poked around at the wound in his shoulder, tutting about being more careful. He endured this with more patience than Jack could manage even at the best of times. And right now? Right now was not the best of times.

She seethed, frustrated and furious. A half hour ago they'd been about to die. Now they sat in the Normandy's medbay as if nothing had happened and their wounds had come about in a context-less vacuum. But there was always context. She remembered the anger at the mercs, the denial, the sudden impulse to grab his hands. She remembered that stunning realization that she could be mad enough to kick the shit out of him and still know that relentless, haunting want.

Goddammit.

"All right, Lieutenant. Let that sit for a few minutes and it'll be good as new," Dr. Chakwas instructed before turning to Jack. "Now. What happened here?"

"Just a scratch," Jack said bitterly.

Behind Chakwas, she saw James scowl. "She got shot close range with a shotgun," he supplied.

"Hm. Yes, I see that. Armor got most of it, though, didn't it?" Chakwas asked.

It was true; the blast had only broken through a few places on her armor. The rest had been melted into scrappy mush. She didn't love wearing armor on an assignment – she preferred the freedom of her own clothes – but there was no denying it was useful in the event she was wounded. "I guess."

"Who applied the medi-gel?"

James raised his hands. "I did."

"Well done, Lieutenant. This is a perfect application, all the markers bound. Excellent," Chakwas positively gushed as she cleaned and bound Jack's leg. "There will be only minimal scarring."

"Boy, that's a relief," Jack said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I would just die if I got another horrible, awful, repulsive scar."

Chakwas ignored this like a professional, though she saw James' eyes narrow. Oh, he thought – well, fine. It was probably for the best if he thought she was making fun of him. It would make staying away so much easier.

"There," Chakwas said. "That'll heal up quite nicely. Is there anything else you two need me to take a look at?"

"Well, I don't know, doctor," Jack said, flashing her jackal's grin. "I've got this real bad pain in my ass. Do you think you could take a look?"

Chakwas didn't even blink. "Right, then. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lieutenant. Specialist." With that, she strode out of the medbay to the dormitory and did not look back once.

"Good to know that you're an asshole to everyone," James said, hopping down from the gurney. "Equal-opportunity shitbagging. Nice."

"So you've realized you're not special, then." She clutched at her chest dramatically. "What is this warm feeling? Could it possibly be relief? Happiness, even?"

"Can't be. You need a heart to be happy."

The retort she'd been planning froze in her throat, and it was a real struggle not to choke on it. Oh, sure; logically she knew she deserved this, and yet it didn't change the fact that his words cut at her like a knife, paring away soft skin to the tender places beneath. She'd taken for granted that he would never use his insight into her as a weapon, so it was surprise that he would finally do so, even after pushing him like she had.

He knew the exact second the words left his mouth that he'd made a mistake; she saw it all over his face. That earnest, stupid surprise, like he couldn't believe he'd even thought it, let alone said it. For some reason, his contrition made her angrier.

"You're right; I _am_ heartless," she said, sliding off the gurney and leaning close. "Probably would be a good idea not to forget it, huh?"

With that, she stormed out of the medbay, James hot on her heels. "Dammit, Jack. I'm –"

She rounded on him, almost smashing headfirst into his chest; he was faster than she thought. "Do _not _fucking say you're sorry. Just shut up."

He was too close, and she wondered if his careless proximity would ever stop knocking the breath out of her. She looked into his eyes –still angry, but desperate and upset too – and goddammit, she almost wanted to apologize right back to him. This stupid dance around each other was pointless; they both knew what would happen in the end. But she fought it because she didn't trust it. She fought him because part of her knew he would be in a unique position to destroy her if he ever chose to. It was clear enough that he could, when hurling a sharp truth at her felt like he'd cut out her heart.

She watched the look in his eyes change from anger to pleading desperation, before shifting finally to defeat. He didn't follow when she lurched away in the opposite direction, fleeing to her haunt on the engineering deck. She spent the rest of the sleep cycle with her hands fisted over her ears, furious that his angry words should hurt her this much, furious that even after everything, she still could not seem to lance him like the wound he was.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Special thanks to Shiaya Atreides, ZOMG its Angie, ebidebi, Anon1, Vanessa, stephivass, Anon2, Dandy in the Aspic, gracie21, RussiaFangirl, CyanB, Ellwyndara, and jay8008 for your lovely awesome reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed. You guys are amazing!**

**After the last few action packed chapters, things are a bit slower here. But I think I've set up some fun things to come :3  
**

**I love hearing feedback from you guys, so please leave me a review and let me know what you'd like to see (or what you liked!) Thanks for reading, everyone.  
**

Jack avoided interacting with anyone for the entire day. Choosing irritating solitude over infuriating prodding, she maintained a staunch vigil in her haunt under the Engineering deck until she literally could no longer stand the scraping of hunger against her ribs. All in all, she'd managed almost twenty hours of exile before throwing in the towel. If she held out much longer, she would probably faint.

It was probably the first time in recent memory that she resented being a biotic. It wasn't that she didn't like eating – Jack's chosen methods of self-hatred were usually more flagrant and showy than an eating disorder – but she resented the schedule, the daily limits, the impetus of control being subverted against her preference. She liked dictating things to her body, not the other way around.

As a biotic, she was expected to consume close to five thousand calories a day if she wanted to function properly. This meant she was usually eating. For the average person, she imagined meals were a nice break but for her, they were a stone around her neck, a constant fixture in her day that could not be avoided or skipped if otherwise occupied.

The Teltin facility hadn't been good for much, but they did manage to imprint the importance of keeping up with the caloric count (in a fucking terrible way, of course). One day she'd gotten it in her head that she would starve herself to death, because she'd rather die that live in the dank hell they had made for her. It had been naïve to expect her choices would have any bearing in that place; they'd merely hooked her up to an IV, one of the technicians clucking that it would be uneconomical for Subject Zero to waste away in half the time it took a normal person.

A shudder rippled down her spine as she pushed away the memory.

She thudded up the stairs to the elevator while attempting not to think or feel anything, including the rude hunger banging around her gut. She'd gotten pretty good at not thinking in the last few hours. Something would remind her of - and down came the iron curtain, cutting off the thought before it could speak.

Well, why the hell not? Her efforts to fix the situation had resulted in even more spectacular failure. Ignoring the situation was her last resort.

She took the lift to the Crew deck, expecting relative silence. When she peeked around the corner, though, she nearly bit her tongue off in frustration. Of course – _of course _ James would be here at this moment, cooking and humming something under his breath. More Spanish she didn't understand, she realized as she listened closer.

Jack had decided against being honest with herself. If she was still in the practice of doing so, she would have admitted that he had a very soothing voice, and that her first impulse wasn't to yell or hurl more angry words at him, but to sit down and listen to him sing while he cooked; not even talking with each other, just . . . appreciating.

Shit. She briefly considered hiding out below decks until he went away, but the thought sent a scraping wave of dismay (or maybe it was hunger) flooding through her. She gritted her teeth and set her jaw in a determined line; she wasn't afraid. She wouldn't be forced to cower through the halls and hidden places just to make things easier for him.

He didn't startle when he caught sight of her glowering as she made her way to the kitchen; instead, he turned back to his pan and continued his ministrations over the contents, swirling the pan with one hand and prodding it with a spatula with the other. "Jack," he said without looking at her.

It hadn't been very long since they saw each other last, but for some reason Jack felt as if years of festering anger had passed between them. He was an asshole and he'd said shitty things, but then . . . she had too. She was an asshole too. They'd both made this bed and now they had to deal with it like adults. The thought was mildly hilarious.

She didn't respond to his greeting. She weaved around him and yanked open the fridge, rifling through the contents cursorily. She wanted to grab something fast and easy and eat it downstairs, but that plan died when she smelled what James was making. She'd never seen anything like it before, but damned if it didn't smell like the most delicious thing she'd ever have the chance to smell.

She held on for a few minutes before her willpower crumbled. "What's that?" she asked unwillingly.

He seemed a bit startled she was talking to him, but he recovered quickly. "It's _carne asada_ with some rice and beans," he supplied. "Literally 'grilled meat', but like my _abuelita_ used to make."

"_Abuelita_ . . .?"

"Grandma."

"Right." She turned back to the fridge, where suddenly her prospects seemed even more dismal than before. Her stomach groaned pathetically.

He dumped half the contents of the pan on his plate, but he frowned when he saw her sad attempts at foraging and her longing expression towards the meal he'd made. "I don't think I can eat all of this," he said in what she was sure he imagined to be a subtle tone. "Mind helping me polish it off?"

She didn't know whether to feel relief or annoyance at his kindness. But she shrugged, too hungry to make a principled stand. "I guess."

After filling her plate and dumping the pan, she took a seat. It would have thrilled her in a very childish way if the food was terrible, but of course it wasn't. She couldn't remember the last time she'd liked a meal this much.

James watched her, taking a bite. "You like it?"

She shrugged. "It's all right."

It was really starting to piss her off how he always seemed to know when she was lying. He just smirked and turned his attention back to his food, mashing it all up on his plate. Jack watched with mild annoyance before organizing the beef, rice and beans into neat piles, careful to keep them from touching.

She would have kept the awkward silence unbroken if she still had full command over her willpower, but after a few stiff minutes she finally couldn't take it anymore. She was curious; that was it. Nothing more. "Where'd you learn how to cook?" she asked grudgingly.

"My aunt, mostly. _Abuelita_ too."

"Your mom couldn't cook?"

Something crossed his expression, like clouds over the sun. "My mom died when I was pretty young," he told her. "I probably would have cooked with her if she'd been around."

She often forgot that he'd had a tough life – not as tough as hers, but few were. She swallowed, feeling like an asshole for bringing it up. "You like it, then?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do. It's . . . well. It's hard for people to be pissed after having a good meal."

So this was another facet of his strange kindness, then. She picked at her nails, nettled. "That's reductive."

"Maybe."

There was silence as they ate, and she found herself watching him, really watching him for the first time in a long time. He looked a little tired and his eyes were tight – with exhaustion or annoyance or something else, she didn't know. His gaze met hers and darted away before she could react or feel anything aside from the quick leap in her gut.

This wasn't right. He was supposed to be a jackass like all the rest, not an earnest tank of a man, talking about his dead mom and how he liked cooking because it cheered people up. He was supposed to be terrible, not endearing. She was supposed to hate him, not –

She took a huge bite of the _carne asada_ and tried to ignore the disturbing lack of temper she felt when she looked at him. Maybe he was right and the food had literally cured her terrible mood. Or maybe he'd done it all himself.

Faced with enduring this awkward meal, Jack decided to cut her losses. She cleaned off the rest of her plate and stood, but before she could leave James looked up at her, effectively freezing her in place. "Hold up a minute?" he asked.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to apologize."

She recoiled. This was the last thing she needed to hear from him. "No thanks."

But his reaction surprised her; instead of letting her disappear without another word, he fixed her with a look that could only be described as stern. "You don't have to accept it," he said sharply, "but I'd appreciate it if you at least listened."

"You'd appreciate it, huh?" she bit back before she could stop herself. Flinging sharp retorts was practically a goddamn tick. "Well, now. That changes everything." She masked the truth with dripping sarcasm and prayed he wouldn't know the difference.

He poked at the mush on his plate for a moment. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was shitty, and it wasn't true either." A half grin pulled at his lips. "I could say that you know how to push my buttons and that _would _ be true, but it's still no excuse. So I'm sorry."

It's not like she'd never heard someone apologize before. Most of the time, though, you could cut through an apology and expose the insincerity that seethed beneath the words. There was none of that with James. She met his gaze and knew for certain that he meant every word he'd said, and even more thrilling he'd seek forgiveness for the ones he didn't.

She struggled for words, suspended halfway between the table and the sink with the dirty plate in hand. For once, she didn't have a biting riposte at hand. Finally, she dumped her plate and strode to the elevator, trying to ignore the desperate thudding of her heart against her ribs. "Thanks for the shitty food," she said as she fled.

* * *

It took little over a day to reach Omega. Because of the ambush, Shepard ran the deck while wrestling with a fair amount of wariness, but in the end it was for nothing. They completed the first leg of their journey into the Terminus with no further trouble.

She checked her guns before activating the airlock and stepping onto the dock, Jack and James not far behind. She smiled when she heard Traynor's voice carrying through the CIC: "Captain Shepard is ashore. Major Alenko has the deck," she intoned with the same inflection she'd earned through a thousand repetitions.

Shepard remembered what it was like to land here – the first city she'd seen after being resurrected. It was too bright and too loud with too many people and she had been inexplicably overwhelmed by the goings-on. This time, though, she looked at the grungy bulkheads that comprised Omega with measured experience; she'd been here before. She knew how things worked.

She wasn't surprised to see that Aria had someone waiting for her; a turian guard with his arms crossed, one hip cocked. "Captain Shepard?" he asked when he saw her.

"Yes. I assume Aria wants to see me?"

The turian looked relieved. "Yeah. Don't keep her waiting, got it?"

Shepard grinned. "This isn't the first time I've been to Omega." Behind her, Jack snorted.

Afterlife wasn't far from the hanger, but it was just far enough to see that Omega hadn't changed at all. It was dingy and dank, loud and obnoxious with various languages blasting on the loudspeakers, all filtering a half second late through her translator. By the shuttle docks, she saw a handful of mercenaries conspiring, heads bent together. A filthy child weaved through the crowd, and she saw his little hands darting in and out of pockets with ease. A few paces in front of them, a man was crumpled on the street, coagulated blood masking his features, and no one stopped to help him.

A childishly idealistic part of Shepard had hoped that the unity they'd gained in the fight for the Reapers would remain after the war ended, but the part of her that lived in the real world knew this to be optimistic reaching at best. Why bother when there was no threat breathing down the galaxy's neck?

"Been a while," James said, mostly to himself.

"Do you think that bar where you beat the shit out of those batarians is still here?" Shepard asked him.

"Probably." He craned around, looking over the heads of the crowd. "Don't see a lot of batarians though."

It seemed like most things would be a reminder of what they'd lost and survived.

By this point, Shepard was almost comforted by how familiar Afterlife was. Not quite the same music – supposedly, the newest fare had come from a well-known DJ on Illium – and the people were different, but it was similar enough. People danced and ordered drinks, and above it all Aria watched the proceedings like one watches an ant farm.

After a burly krogan with a good chunk missing from his skullplate scanned the three of them, Aria turned and fixed them with a narrowed gaze. "Shepard. Good to see you're still in one piece." She sounded as if the opposite were true.

"I had a feeling you'd know something about our little bit of trouble," Shepard said easily, taking a seat across from her.

"It pays to know these things," Aria said with a disinterested wave of her hand.

"I assume you know why I'm here as well?"

A ghost of a grin played at Aria's lips. "You want something. It's the wheel that grinds this stink pit I call my own."

"I figured you'd be in a better position to tell me about the merc trouble than anyone else," Shepard said casually. "I mean, what goes on in the Terminus that you don't already know about?"

"Save your flattery, Shepard," Aria said in a voice like a razor. "There's not any merc trouble. No more so than usual."

"Is that so?" Shepard kept her tone light, but they both could hear the edge to her words. "We both know there is. Cut the games."

Aria fixed her with a cold stare before looking out on Afterlife again. "Things are different now, Shepard. You're Alliance, and the Alliance makes trouble for people like me."

"You're really having a harder time cooperating with me now that I'm Alliance again instead of a Cerberus agent?" Shepard asked pointedly. "Really?"

Aria scowled. "I tolerated Cerberus when they stayed out of my business. That changed when they decided to cross me, as you well know."

"You're right, Aria," Shepard said coldly, leaning forward. "I do know. I know that the reason you're sitting here on this chunk of metal and rock is because _I put you back here. _ I know that you control the major merc groups only because of my interference. Everything that you have I gave to you. So the way I figure it, when I ask you for some information you better pony the fuck up, because I'm not going to tolerate being jerked around, not after all I've done for you. Are we clear?"

Aria's expression was an odd mixture of disdain, annoyance, and grudging respect. "Crystal," she replied.

"Wonderful. So when I ask you about trouble with the mercs, you say . . .?

Shepard realized too late that Aria's reticence stemmed from shame. She looked away when she spoke. "Yeah, there's been trouble."

"Clarify."

"The Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse are toeing the line; they're not the problem. The trouble is coming from another group, and they're . . . different. No one knows what they're called, no one knows where they came from or who leads them. The only thing that we do know is that they're powerful, there are a lot of them, and they are not happy with the way things are in the galaxy."

"How do you know this?"

Aria considered for a moment. "You know your friend Archangel? He made a lot of trouble for a lot of people around here, but it was always clear what he wanted and who he was fighting for. But with this band of mercs, it's not as simple. Not at first. They target rival merc groups, civilians, my people. They're harassing smugglers and legitimate businessmen alike, and it's not just here. It's all over. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they were just out to make trouble for the rest of us."

"But since you do know better?"

"They want something, and I don't know what it is. That stinks like trouble to me."

It was more or less what Shepard expected, but that didn't mean she was pleased about it. "Is that all you know?"

"Look, Shepard," Aria snapped, frustrated. "It's in my best interest to get rid of these little shits. They're messing with the order of things around here, and you know how much I like that. If you're planning on doing something about it, I won't get in your way."

"Another notch on the list of things you owe me?"

"I don't think so," Aria said coolly. "They're causing you just as much trouble as they are for me. It's in your interest – not to mention the Alliance's – to fix this problem. So I'll help you, but I won't owe you."

Shepard couldn't resist. "Not any more than you already do, anyway," she said, smirking.

Aria wasn't amused. "Right."

Shepard leaned back on the couch and gestured widely. "So help."

"The problem is that we don't know anything about these mercs. They're cagey, they move under the radar. I've tried to get someone on the inside, but they know all my men." Aria didn't quite smile, but her lips curved in an icy approximation. "I think your arrival here could be an elegant solution to this problem."

It took Shepard half a second to figure out where Aria was going with this. "I'm not exactly low profile."

"You wanted my help, Shepard," Aria said disdainfully. "Here it is. You probably couldn't join a merc group, but your friends here could."

Shepard frowned. "You know both of them have histories in these parts?"

"Sure," Aria agreed. "But your Lieutenant here was only widely known with the batarians, and we don't see many of them those days. And as for your friend .Jack . . . well, she hardly looks like her old self, does she?"

Shepard took a closer look at Jack. Aria was right; she was hardly recognizable, despite her striking face. Her hair had almost grown out, even though she kept it pulled back, and most of her tattoos were hidden by the longcoat and fatigues she wore. She arched a brow at Shepard's scrutiny.

"This would only work as long as the mercs don't use any kind of identification suite," Shepard mused. "If they're that careful with your men, I don't see why they wouldn't be with mine."

But Aria was already shaking her head. "They recognized my men's faces, but your friends are unknowns here. I can slap them both with new identities faster than you can blink."

Shepard didn't speak immediately. The longer she thought about it, the more it seemed like the only viable course of action that was available to them. They could poke around the system and the other metropolitan centers in the Terminus but the longer they searched, the deeper the mercs would entrench themselves. She would always be hampered by the fact that she and the Normandy were extremely recognizable, but it wasn't so much for Jack and James. They could put on new identities and blend in with the other freelancers that made their homes on Omega. They could get closer to the mercs threatening the Council and the Alliance.

"I guess it's . . . worth considering," Shepard allowed.

"That's sweet of you."

Shepard grimaced as she stood, adjusting her armor. "We'll be in touch, Aria."

"I can't wait," Aria called as they retreated.

The trek back to the Normandy was not nearly long enough for Shepard to hammer out her plan, and she watched the airlock hiss open with some frustration.

Aria's plan made sense, but Shepard didn't like it. It gave her a weird feeling to think about leaving Jack and James to fend for themselves on Omega, probably the roughest, most dangerous place in the entire galaxy. Not that the both of them couldn't take care of themselves – they could, amply so – but it was different on a solo mission. She thought about Jack's myriad issues and James' experience on Fehl Prime. It was a good idea, but that didn't mean it was good for either of them.

She met Kaidan at the airlock and returned his salute before striding off into the CIC. They'd promised each other that it would be all business when they were on duty. No errant displays of affection, not with the crew watching. It was a difficult rule to abide, sometimes.

"Major, come with me," Shepard commanded. "Traynor; get us Admiral Hackett."

* * *

For a person who avoided change as much as Jack did, she found that she was being forced to deal with a lot of it in a short span of time. How many days had she had to get used to the current situation before life threw another wrench in the gears?

Oh, sure; nothing had been confirmed yet. In fact, she didn't know what Shepard and Aria had been talking about; the club had been too loud and Jack couldn't read lips. But she saw Shepard's expression become more and more pinched with worry as the conversation had continued, and by the time they returned to the Normandy, her features were dark.

Something was going to happen. She knew it in her gut, in her bones. It was that feeling she'd gotten the day she'd fucked James; that overwhelming sensation that something immense was at hand and she was totally unprepared.

Jack camped out in the lounge for the rest of the day, smoking and drinking and doing her best not to think about anything. As far as she knew, Shepard and Kaidan were still conferring with Hackett over the next course of action. Then they'd probably confer with each other. Shepard was technically the commanding officer, but Jack knew she liked mulling things over with Kaidan. She liked bouncing her thoughts off his perspective.

She wondered where James was and what he was doing. Dumbass things, probably. Chuckling it up with his buddy the shuttle pilot, ogling the new guns they'd picked up at the market in the afternoon. Maybe cooking, sharing it with a pretty crewman. Maybe forgetting about her. That would be good, she decided. That would be preferable to the knowledge that if she wanted to, she could keep him and he would keep her right back.

Jack didn't know how many hours had passed before Shepard peeked her head in, her expression one of familiar wariness. So she had bad news, then. Jack drained her beer and realized she was slightly drunk when she nearly fell off the barstool. "Shepard," she slurred a bit. "Have a drink with me."

Shepard gently plucked the bottle out of Jack's loose fingers. "How about instead I get you something to eat and we talk a bit?"

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Of course not," Shepard said as she tossed the bottle in the compactor.

"It's just you're using that 'I've got something serious to say' voice, and honestly it's making my stomach hurt."

"Oh, Jack."

"Don't 'oh, Jack' me. Get me something to eat and stop looking at me like that."

Shepard rushed to obey. "Try not to hurt yourself."

"I'll do my sincere best," Jack snarked.

Five minutes later Shepard was back with a heaping bowl of pasta drenched with meat sauce. "You think you can handle this?"

"Well, if I can't, we'll all know about it, won't we?" Jack said, pulling the bowl toward her. It smelled nice enough. "So, hit me with the bad news."

"It's not bad news," Shepard insisted, though she didn't look convinced. "It's just . . . unexpected."

"Stop being coy, Shepard."

Her brow twitched. "We need to leave you and James behind."

A pit of ice formed instantly in her gut and she froze, pasta-laden fork halfway to her mouth. "You're – what?"

"It's temporary," Shepard quickly clarified. "But we need you and James to infiltrate the mercs. Aria's people can't – they're too well known – so it was decided that the best course of action would be to leave two Alliance operatives behind to reconnoiter and infiltrate."

"Why?!"

"Because we don't know anything about them. You know the group that attacked us on the _Antietam? _Their ships didn't broadcast any signatures, and the men we fought had no marks or insignias on their armor, not to mention none of them showed up on preliminary identification suites. All we know is that they're trying to cause trouble, and that's not enough. So we need you two to do this."

"I'm not Alliance," Jack said first, though a thousand other protests rattled through her skull. "I'm a criminal, and this was my old stomping ground. I'd be real fucking surprised if no one recognized me."

Shepard looked her over. "You don't really look much like you did, Jack. It's not just that you grew out your hair. You keep most of your markings hidden. You could easily pass for a freelancer with the identification mods Aria's willing to give."

Jack knew this. She knew their scheme made sense. She knew the reason she was so upset was not because of the task they were asking her to accomplish, but because of the person they told her to accomplish it with. Just she and James, alone. The icy knot of fear tightened in her gut. "I don't think I can do this, Shepard. I – fuck, I'm not some – I don't know how to do this. I can't."

Shepard wasn't fooled. "You want to tell me what this is about, Jack?" she asked gently. "I know you. This kind of mission is something you'd normally be all over. Talk to me."

And suddenly, Jack couldn't take it anymore. The prospect of being without the only source of steadiness in her life made her feel sick and panicked, trapped. It made the world seem jagged and bleak, and in the face of this she finally let her festering thoughts free.

"I . . . it's James," she admitted, almost too quietly to be heard. "Fuck."

"I thought something had happened between you two," Shepard said, a bit smugly.

"Yeah, something happened. Lots of things happened. I don't even know where to start."

Shepard didn't press her; she waited with a painfully empathetic expression, looking at Jack as if she shared her pain and anxiety.

"I – for some reason I –" She couldn't say it. Not while there was still hope it wasn't true. "For some reason, he interests me. I'm interested despite himself, you know what I mean?"

"Not really."

"I mean he's kind of a colossal moron and he's uniquely capable of pissing me off, and despite all of this I still . . . ugh. You know."

"Yeah."

"So, you know me. And you know this bullshit is not something I want to live with. So I've been breaking my fucking head trying to figure out how to get rid of it. I've tried to ignoring him; doesn't work. I've been a huge asshole to him, and if anything it makes it worse because he's just incapable of being a shitty person, no matter how shitty I am to him. I tried – goddammit. I tried fucking him."

Shepard's eyes went wide. "You didn't."

"I did."

"How would that have worked, exactly?"

"Well, I thought the interest was just attraction, you know? I thought if I fucked him, it would go away. That's how it usually works for me. Use them and lose them."

"But . . .?" Shepard prompted.

Jack pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Take a wild guess, Shepard. Does it look like it fucking worked?"

"No, it doesn't."

Jack swallowed in an attempt to fortify herself. "So I've just been trying to avoid him. I've been trying to avoid thinking about him, with about as much success as you'd expect. But it's okay right now because we're both on a big ship and you're here. If it's just the two of us . . . I don't know. It scares the fucking shit out of me."

Shepard was silent for a long moment. "Have you considered . . . just going with it?" she asked tentatively

"Are you kidding me?!"

"It's an honest question!"

Jack scowled. "Yeah, I considered it. Then I decided it was fucking nonsense."

"It just seems like you're making yourself miserable trying to deny it," Shepard said, shrugging. "That's all I meant to say."

"Well, it would be worse if I 'went with it', Shepard. I mean, I know I said I'd never do the whole buddy thing and I am now, but this is different. If I go with it and things inevitably fall apart, do you know how much damage that moron could do? Even if he didn't mean to, he could fucking wreck me. I don't want to say worse than before, but I don't know. I don't know him and I can't trust him and this whole thing is just so fucking infuriating it makes me want to wash my hands of the whole deal and leave everything."

"Even Hannah? Even me?"

Jack winced. "Dammit, Shepard."

"I'm not saying you have to do anything, Jack. And you know that James . . . well, I'm not going to interfere. Just I don't think you need to worry about him hurting you because he would never."

"And how do you know?" Jack demanded, rounding on Shepard so fast that she nearly toppled off the barstool.

Shepard gently steadied her. "I guess we never know for sure, but everything I've seen of James tells me what kind of man he is, and he isn't like the kind you've known."

The worst part was that Jack knew this already. And that was the problem. If James was like every other shitstain she'd known, she'd have had no problem leaving him in the dust like the others. But he wasn't. He was kind and thoughtful and funny in an incredibly stupid, yet weirdly endearing way. She instinctively knew that if she consented to this mission, she would not be able to escape him. She'd succumb.

It scared her how much she wanted to.

"All right, Shepard," Jack said. "Just . . . ugh. Can we stop talking about this?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry, Jack."

"You don't have to be sorry about anything. This is my own stupid bullshit."

Shepard offered her a tentative smile. "I think there are worse kinds of bullshit than liking a guy, right?"

"Oh, sure. Doesn't make it any less bullshit."

"Fair enough." Shepard stood slowly. "You're right; you're not technically Alliance so you're not obligated to do anything. Just let me know what you decide, okay?"

Shepard was halfway into the hall when Jack called out. "What would happen if I said no?"

"Well," Shepard said slowly, frowning. "We'd be deploying James alone at first. Hackett made it clear that he doesn't have the manpower or resources to help right now, so I would try and call in a favor from some of the old crew. Zaeed and Miranda, most likely. They have the most experience around here."

Jack didn't hear any of the words that came after 'alone'. She knew Omega, probably better than Aria did. She'd squatted here for a few years when she had been on the run from the law. She knew the hidden places, the gangs, the sharp corners. There were a lot of ways a person could die on Omega, and a lot of hidden places where their body could end up. The thought of James – without an ounce of biotic power in his body! – alone on this dangerous rock curdled her already sour gut and made her mouth dry with fear.

She already knew what she'd decide. Jack didn't put so much stock in hokey concepts like fate and destiny, but the absence of choice was starting to make the situation seem a lot like it.

She stood and faced Shepard with stone for a heart, though the seriousness of the moment was undercut by her drunken wobbling. "I'll do it," she said firmly. Shepard knew better than to argue. She knew her appeals to consider for longer would fall on deaf ears.

Jack didn't like change, but when she made up her mind she stuck to her choice well past the threshold of logic or sanity. And this particular bout of insanity, she would meet head on.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Special thanks to ebidebi, Anon1, Anon2, Anon 3, ZOMG its Angie, gracie21, jay8008, Ellwyndara, Dandy in the Aspic, Vanessa, millahnna, ShiayaAtreides, and CyanB for your awesome reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed.**

**Please leave me a review because hearing back from you guys makes my day! Thanks again, everyone.  
**

They were given a day to prepare.

Though this was mostly unnecessary – Jack had gathered her belongings and applied her fake identity in the span of about two hours – she found she appreciated the time despite herself. It was sadly necessary to get used to the idea of working with James in such close quarters, relying on solely him while they worked to infiltrate a stealth mercenary cell.

It's not like she was worried he couldn't pull his weight. She'd seen him in action and as far as soldiers went, he was good. Better than good. He was one of the best, and since she'd worked extensively with the best, she felt like she had room to judge. If they found themselves in a scrape, he'd more than do his part. She knew this.

It took her almost the whole day to come to terms with the fact that she was worried on his behalf. Omega was a – what had Miranda called it? Right; a pisshole. Omega was a pisshole, filled to the brim with every breed of asshole and lowlife the galaxy had to offer. She'd seen a father murder his own children on Omega. She'd seen one homeless wretch slit the throat of another with a jagged piece of glass for the contents of his begging cup. It was a terrible place and she knew all too well that letting your guard down for a second was essentially an invitation to be killed.

She thought about what she would do if something happened to James. Granted, most of the time she seemed to hate him, but already there was a degree of possession mingled with annoyance. He was _hers _, at least she wanted him to be. And as far as she was concerned, she was the only one allowed to hurt him. Anyone else that did was asking for a hat made out of their own fucking intestines.

Jack spent the last hours before her departure in the Starboard Observation with Shepard and Hannah. She watched the lazy procession of ships docking at and departing from Omega, one after the other. The silence of it all would have been calming in any other circumstance. As it was, she found the tranquility grating and oppressive instead.

"You're pretty quiet," Shepard said, holding a fussing Hannah against her shoulder.

"Just . . . making my peace with this whole thing," Jack said.

Shepard frowned. "The more I think about it, the more I don't like it."

"Why?"

"Come on. You know why." Shepard frowned. "I don't exactly have great memories of this place."

"Hm." Jack picked at her nails with a pocket knife. "Did you know I used to live here?"

"Not in so many words. But I had a feeling you found your way here during your . . . career."

"Hah! Career," Jack said, smirking. "That's a good one."

"So I guess you're an expert on Omega and that's why you're not worried."

"I was thinking the other day that I know this place better than even Aria does. You want to know why?"

"Shoot."

Jack flicked the knife. "Because Aria's never had to hide here. She runs the place, so she's got a pretty solid grasp of it. But she never had to wade through the shit to get safe. She never had to run for her life with a horde of assholes chomping for her blood on her heels. And if she has, she had a legion of lackeys willing to take a bullet for her. When you're trying to survive on your own, you get creative. You find places no one else would have thought of."

"And you have?"

Jack grinned, though it felt more like a grimace. "Yeah, I have. I doubt this place has changed so much in the last couple years that I'd be in trouble."

"I guess not." Shepard hoisted Hannah against her shoulder, rubbing her hand over the infant's little back. "I don't know."

Jack was started to get irritated with Shepard's attitude. "Out with it, Shepard."

"I don't trust that Aria isn't part of this. And if she is, of course she'd suggest we split up. Of course she'd suggest we leave our two most skilled operatives on Omega, in her domain."

"Yeah, I wouldn't put that past her," Jack said, unconcerned. "But I did some checking, and she really is having trouble with some unnamed mercs. Maybe she's not being straight with you, but she wasn't lying about that." Jack grinned. "Besides. I don't know about James, but I can take care of myself. And I'll probably end up taking care of him."

For the first time in the evening, Shepard's lips pulled in a grin. "Will you, now?"

Jack narrowed her eyes. "Not like that."

"Why not? You both want it."

Jack shook her head, as if attempting to dislodge a particularly resilient notion. "Please shut the fuck up."

"All right. You know what I think."

She sure did. Shepard was convinced that this bullshit with James was the next step on her long road to becoming a somewhat adjusted, partially functional human being. She didn't say as much, but Jack saw it in her face, that tenderly smug expression that just screamed 'my little Jack is all grown up and tolerating other people now.' If anyone but Shepard looked at her that way, she'd beat the tar out of them.

As it was, she indulged Shepard with as much patience as she could manage. Which wasn't a lot, granted. But she made the effort.

"Ugh," Jack groaned. "I don't . . . it's still weird talking about this shit."

"You don't have to, if it's that weird."

"No, it's just . . ." Jack paused, biting her lip. "He kind of ruined it for everyone else."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, I used to laugh at you and the Major. No offense."

Shepard grinned. "None taken."

"I used to think you were sacrificing your freedom for a bit of security in the other person, and I never wanted that. I didn't know that . . . it's like they ruin other people for you. You don't even want that freedom anymore, because you wouldn't even enjoy it properly. I don't know." Jack trailed off, watching a frigate dock beside them. "I can't decide if I wish I never met him or not."

"Jack . . ."

"Forget it. We should probably get moving." Jack pocketed her knife and stood. "Might as well, right?"

Shepard looked uneasy. "I guess."

"There's no guessing about it. We'll handle things here, you handle things out there. Then we can all go home and plan your wedding."

"Oh my god," Shepard shook her head. "I completely forgot about that."

"How do you forget your own wedding?"

"We have a lot going on!" Shepard said indignantly as Hannah stirred in her arms. "I've been distracted, and so has Kaidan."

"I bet you anything he hasn't forgotten. He'll be crushed."

Shepard's expression became dangerous. "Don't you dare. I haven't forgotten about the important things; being with him and raising our child together. I just forgot about the awful media circus that our wedding has devolved into." She scowled. "Thanks for reminding me."

"My pleasure," Jack smirked. "Don't be so put out. In a minute you won't have to deal with my shit at all."

She'd meant it to be a joke but as the silence hung between them it faltered, sounding despondent instead. She saw Shepard's expression twist and felt like a monster for making this whole bullshit situation worse. "Forget it," she urged. "It's not like we'll never see each other again."

"Yeah, I know." Shepard stood, careful not to jostle Hannah.

Jack struggled with her concern. She made a valiant attempt to bite it back but in the end it would not stay unspoken. "Just . . . try not to get killed, all right?" she blurted. "I mean it."

"Same goes for you," Shepard said in what she wanted to be an easy voice.

It horrified Jack to realize that her throat was tight and her eyes burned; was this grief or fear or anger? She didn't know. She'd gotten so used to the idea of sticking by Shepard's side while they figured out this shit with the mercs that the thought of separating not only seemed stupid but dangerous. She couldn't shake the feeling that they would never see each other again.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek so hard it bled. "Yeah, yeah . . . come on. Enough of this weepy shit."

* * *

James puffed on the cigar clamped between his teeth and surveyed his cards neutrally. He was a master at masking his reaction – it was why he was so good at poker – and he was also pretty good at picking up tells. Esteban chewed on his lip when stressed, both in the cockpit and out, and right now he was munching on that thing like he was starving. He was out, then.

But Kaidan was harder to read. He read his cards without so much as a twitching eyebrow or finger. He didn't fidget, didn't scan the room. He met James' neutral gaze with cool assurance. So he had a good hand, then. Good but not the best.

Kaidan casually pushed another pile of credits onto the table. Confident. But something about it was too affected, too artificial. He was bluffing.

Esteban threw his cards on the table. "I'm out," he grumbled.

James only grinned. "Let's see 'em, Major."

"Full house," he said, pleased as punch.

James was a master at masking, but even he couldn't keep the triumph off his face. "Straight flush," he said as he neatly laid his hand on the table and leaned back in his chair, puffing the cigar delightedly.

"Goddammit, Vega," Kaidan groused. "I thought I finally had you."

"_¡Qué mal te va!"_

Esteban was not pleased. "_Cállate," _he grumbled.

"Now, now. Don't be rude."

"I'll show you rude."

Kaidan cleared his throat to head off the argument. "Better take your winnings before I get too bitter."

"Don't mind if I do." James pocketed the pile of credits. "This should keep us afloat for a few weeks, at least."

"That's not that much money," Esteban said, frowning.

"I know how to make it last," James assured him. "You find a shoebox in a bad neighborhood and it'll go for peanuts."

"Isn't that pretty much what all the neighborhoods on Omega are like?"

"Nah. There's a hierarchy. The nicer places are up top. Heads of corporations or crime bosses hire private forces or have enough money to pay for mechs."

The two of them were both too quiet. Esteban picked at his nails and Kaidan stared out into nothingness, his brow pinched with what James assumed to be worry. "I don't like this," Esteban finally said. "What are you supposed to do if things go south? You don't have any backup."

"Not get ourselves in a situation like that in the first place," James said, shrugging philosophically. "I know my way around, and I'm guessing Jack does too. We'll be all right."

"I guess."

"Chin up, _cabron." _ James flashed a grin for his sake. "You'll worry yourself gray."

"Ha ha."

Kaidan folded his hands. "You remember what Hackett said, yeah?"

How could he have forgotten? The old Admiral had said this whole situation was unconventional, but if James managed to pull this off they would fast track his N7 designation. This whole operation was a test, and the expectation was unspoken but obvious; don't screw up and you'll be an elite. He'd be lying if he said this hadn't floored him.

"Yeah, I remember. It's not like he had to dangle the N7 over my head to get me to take it seriously," he equivocated.

"Still, though. It's a big deal," Kaidan insisted.

"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't what I wanted, but . . . well, it'll be just as good to get rid of these _pendejos. _Better, even."

"That's noble of you," Esteban said in an attempt at levity that never really got off the ground. "Add a damsel in distress and this has you all over it."

He hadn't meant it that way, but the thought of Jack filling such a role was so ridiculous he couldn't keep from laughing. Her many personal issues aside, she was probably the toughest, most dangerous person he'd ever known in his life, including Shepard. Any man who got the idea of saving her would probably end up wearing his teeth as a necklace. He liked it that way. "Right," he chuckled, still amused.

He was startled out his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat. It was Jack; her arms were crossed tightly over her chest and her eyes were narrowed murderously. "If you're finished fucking around, we should probably start looking for the merc terrorists, yeah?"

Well, this was an illustrious start. James gathered his winnings and followed her out of the lounge, doing his best to ignore the feeling that he'd once again messed things up irreversibly without even being aware of it. Reconciliation was probably out of reach by now; at this point, he'd settle for vague tolerance.

* * *

In the end, they skipped saying their goodbyes. James insisted that it was unnecessary, and Jack found she couldn't argue with that. It was predictably hopeful of him, and though she was really pretty irritated with him at the moment (understatement), she allowed this small fragment of hope. Besides, she hated saying goodbye. It was more her style to leave in the middle of the night; no excuses, no warning. Just gone, without the fallout.

They disembarked from the Normandy on an abandoned dock so no one would see them and know they were affiliated with the Alliance. Jack did not look back as they made their way deeper into Omega. She didn't turn around or wave to Shepard and Kaidan and Hannah. She didn't say anything; not 'see you' or 'bye' or even 'later'. She kept her words to herself, because she knew they would betray her. She didn't watch the Normandy disappear into the void, the better to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut, the one that was making it hard to breathe.

On a station of nearly eight million sentients, they were alone. And now that they were alone, they had no idea how to talk to one another. What a fucking job, Jack fumed. They were expected to take down a heavily entrenched merc band, and they couldn't even get past the awkwardness to formulate a plan. It was pathetic, childish shit.

Also, the damsel in distress comment certainly hadn't improved matters. Truth told, she'd been more offended than angry at first. She was terrible to him, but for some reason she thought he'd had a better opinion of her than that. The slight picked burrowed under her skin, nettling her already considerable temper.

She would have kept him dangling in awkward silence for weeks, but spoke only because the silence was starting to piss her off and they had a job to do. "So," she said casually, though she couldn't keep the temper out of her voice. "Do you have a plan? I mean, I'd tell you what I think, but I might not be able to manage it. Because of my distress and all."

She saw a flicker of realization cross his features and he groaned. "He didn't mean it like that, Jack," he said, trying for patience but landing on exasperation instead. "He wasn't talking about you."

"I don't care," she bit back. "Do you have a plan or not?"

"I do, actually," he said with just as much heat. "I was thinking we could find a cheap place to use as a base and then scout, see what we can learn first. That is unless you want to split up?"

She didn't, but he didn't have to know that. "Lead on," she said with a wave of her hands. "I'll let you know if I change my mind."

"I'm sure you will."

The volatile nature of Omega meant they were able to find a place to crash after only a few hours. She'd been about to suggest the lower districts before he detoured there automatically, without the need for any direction. In fact, as she watched him she realized he knew this place pretty well. Not as well as she did, of course, but well enough to be serviceable. He knew enough to go straight to the slums and speak to the landlord first, a hard-bitten turian.

She let James negotiate, curious to see how he'd do pitting wills against this obviously experienced, shrewd landlord. But he was able to get them a place on the cheap; after a few questions, James had gone for the kill, immediately guessing that the previous tenant had been killed recently, and the landlord would be smart to take what James offered. And in that manner, things were settled.

She wouldn't admit to him that she was impressed, though she was. "How'd you know?" she asked him while the landlord rummaged for the lock codes.

James nodded toward one of the datapads strewn on the landlord's desk. "Says right there. You didn't notice?"

"Oh, I knew. I just wanted to know how you knew."

He wasn't convinced. "Right."

The landlord escorted them through the complex, weaving through the narrow halls littered with piles of smoking debris and rotting trash. She thought she caught the distinct stench of a corpse coming from one of the rooms, but they'd passed before she could peek in to know for sure.

It was mostly bottom- tier mercs and drug addicts that lived on this level. She saw a few very poor families that obviously couldn't afford anything nicer, and some scavengers rummaged through the empty apartments, scattering when they heard the landlord approach.

Jack bit her tongue when the landlord finally led them to their apartment. It was tiny, hardly bigger than Shepard's kitchen back on Earth. It was one room, with a bed, a chair, a 'kitchen' smaller than she was tall, and a bathroom that more closely resembled a closet. It wasn't the worst place she'd ever squatted in her life, but it sure wasn't any luxury palace, that was for sure.

"Thank you for choosing Scenic Gardens for your living needs," the turian said dully before shuffling off, disappearing down the hallway.

James snorted. "Is it a requirement for apartment complexes to choose the most inappropriate names?"

"What?" she asked, distracted.

"Well, come on. There are no gardens around here, and there's nothing scenic about it. It's just funny, is all."

He had a point, but she wasn't feeling generous. "You think the fucking stupidest things are funny."

"And? Stupid things _are _funny."

They stepped into the apartment, and as James hit the door latch behind them, it struck her that for the next interminable span of weeks – or months, even – she and James would be crammed up in this tiny shoebox of a room. There would be no hiding here, no escaping him. He'd be the last thing she saw when she went to sleep and the first thing she saw when she woke up. It terrified her to realize the prospect itself didn't scare her like it should have, like it would have if it was with any other person.

She watched him surreptitiously as he inspected the kitchen and took stock of what they needed. She watched his strong hands, the powerful lines of him as he moved. If she had known that her mistake would force her to contend with the shade of memory that taunted her with the things he'd done as he touched her, she never would have tried to defeat this. She'd have known it was futile.

Jack and her desires had been allies as long as she could remember. When growing up in a shitpile, you learned to take what you could and enjoy the fuck out of it, because you never knew when your number would be up. But this was the first time that her desire turned against her. It had gone traitor all for the sake of a beautiful man with beautiful eyes and the right words and hands that knew too much.

She suddenly couldn't breathe. "I'm going exploring," she said abruptly. "Alone."

He didn't like this, and she didn't blame him. This was a dangerous place. "I don't think-"

She didn't wait for him to finish. She punched in the door code and strode out into the hallway without looking back once. She half expected him to come after her, but the hallways behind her were completely silent. She tried to convince herself that she wasn't brokenly disappointed by this.

* * *

The Normandy was eleven hours out of Omega when Traynor buzzed up to Shepard's cabin. "Captain, there's a transmission coming in," she said, stifling a yawn. "It's waiting for you in the comm room."

Shepard had been sleeping fitfully with Kaidan wrapped around her, his face nuzzling into the back of her neck. He groaned when she sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "I'll be right down."

Without bothering to straighten her uniform properly, she thudded down to the CIC and trudged to the comm room. The disjointed worries and dreams that had haunted her still buzzed in her thoughts, making it difficult to focus. She would be lying if she said she wasn't stressing over leaving Jack and James on Omega, where so many things could go wrong that it would take a few months of straight risk assessment to get it all. Hackett had been all over it, of course – he always had been a fan of getting the job done by any means – but Shepard looked at it in a manner of probabilities. Jack and James were skilled, absolutely, but they were only two against a sizeable population of sociopaths and murderers.

Shepard activated the comm, starting a little when she saw who it was. "Tali?"

"_Shepard. I'm glad I got a hold of you." _Shepard did not miss the strange note of relief in her voice.

"Is something wrong?"

The image of Tali flickered a bit as she shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. "_Yes. I'm sorry to bother you about this, but we're desperate." _

"We're in the Terminus, so if you need assistance the Normandy can be there in a few days."

"_I thought you'd be on your own mission."_

"Well, I am. But if you're in trouble, I can make time. You know that."

Shepard had gotten pretty good at reading Tali's expressions through her mask, and now she looked desperately grateful and almost contrite. "_Thank you, Shepard."_

"So tell me what the problem is, and we'll see what we can do."

"_It's probably not as bad as whatever you're handling. You know we've been rebuilding Rannoch over the last year, right?"_

"I remember."

"_We've been running into a lot of interference from some unaffiliated mercs. Well, actually if you want to be technical they're more like terrorists. They'll isolate transports and destroy them, they damage supply lines and sabotage what progress we make on Rannoch. They aren't just the garden variety, either; they're highly organized. They're strategic. We might have done better with the geth to help us, but as it is . . . we're shorthanded."_

Shepard swallowed a fresh wave of guilt. She'd known this would happen when she activated the Crucible, and not a day went by where she didn't agonize over her choice. She cleared her throat, forging ahead. "You're not going to believe this, but that's why Kaidan and I have been assigned to the Terminus. The Council wants us handling the merc problem in these parts."

"_You're kidding!"_

"Nope."

"_I can't believe it."_

"Like I said, we can be there in a few days. Joker, are you there?"

Joker's voice crackled on the intercom. "_Aye, ma'am."_

"Set a course for Rannoch."

Tali was relief incarnate. "_Thank you, Shepard. I thought I'd ask, but I didn't know . . ."_

"Yes, you did," Shepard insisted. "Even if it wasn't part of the job, you know I'd do whatever I could to help."

"_You're right."_

"I'll see you in a few days, Tali. We'll figure out why they're doing this and stop them."

But before she could switch off the console, Tali held both her hands up. "_Wait! There's something else you should know."_

"Yes?"

Tali shifted again, distinctly uncomfortable. "_I . . . we already know why the mercs have been targeting us."_

"Let's hear it," Shepard said, and she ignored the vague feeling that twisted in her gut.

Tali paused. Her hands knotted in front of her and she spoke softly, her voice frizzing a little on the poor frequency. _"They're coming after us because we're rebuilding the geth."_


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Thank you to Delysh, Anon1, greeneyedkirk, Anon2, ebidebi, Anon3, Dandy in the Aspic, Cortina2, CuHnadian, gracie21, jay8008, Ellwyndara, stephivass, Russia Fangirl, and CyanB for your awesome reviews, and to everyone else who has read, faved and followed this story. I appreciate the support so much.**

**I had fun with this chapter, heh. I think each character has a threshold, and this chapter a lot of those thresholds are finally crossed.  
**

**Anyways, I love hearing from you, so please leave me a review with what you liked and what you'd like to see! Thanks for reading, everyone.  
**

In retrospect, Shepard should have known the quarians would decide to rebuild the geth. In the last weeks before the final confrontation, they'd made peace and had begun to work together. The geth had helped the quarians adjust to their world, so that one day they could live without their suits. By this point, they were so inextricably linked that it made sense one would attempt to resurrect the other.

But it was still stunning, partly because Shepard hadn't believed it was even possible. She vaguely heard Joker whisper 'oh my god' over the intercom, his voice trembling over the words. It took her a moment to realize why this would be significant to him.

"You're . . . _what?"_

Tali launched into a hurried explanation, and Shepard thought she sounded almost defensive. _"The geth were our creations. We had finally made peace with them before they were destroyed. They were helping us, even after everything! We want to bring them back because we owe it to them."_

"I'm sure it would serve the quarians also. You interest isn't completely selfless," Shepard pointed out.

"_Well, yes. It would help us all."_

"Tali, I don't know," Shepard said. "Does the Council know about this?"

"_They're . . . not exactly on board."_

"That's not surprising. You and the geth may have ended up on peaceful terms, but that was only after a war that spanned centuries. Not to mention how much trouble the rogue units have caused for the galaxy at large." Shepard paused, frowning. "I guess my first question would is there any way you can guarantee the same thing won't happen again?"

"_We have considered, that, Shepard," _Tali said. "_Extensively. I wouldn't be able to promise you anything, except that we wouldn't start anything this time around. We've all learned from our mistakes, and it was our mistakes that created the problem in the first place."_

That was certainly true, but Shepard wasn't convinced. "Do you know why the mercs don't want you to rebuild the geth?"

"_No. I could guess, but that wouldn't really help anything."_

"Let's hear your guess."

Tali shrugged, agitated. _"They probably don't like it for the reasons you just mentioned. The geth have a ,. . . controversial history. But we've discussed this both among the Admirals and the Conclave and everyone agrees that rebuilding them would be for everyone's benefit."_

Shepard didn't say anything for a moment. "We'll talk about it more when we land on Rannoch. We shouldn't be longer than a few days."

"_All right. See you soon, Shepard." _ Tali paused. _"And thank you."_

"Sure, Tali. See you soon."

Shepard switched off the comm and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her head hurt.

She'd be lying if she said she'd expected this development; she should have been, but it still managed to catch her completely by surprise. The Catalyst hadn't outright said so, but it had heavily implied that the fate of EDI and the geth would be irreversible. They would be as good as dead, and if rebuilt it wouldn't be the same. They would be new creations, not the ones they had lost.

Of course the quarians hadn't informed the Council of their plans. Why would they? Before the Reapers, the quarians had been ostracized from the galactic community because of the geth. And yet now here they were, about to make the same choice again and obviously expecting a different result. Wasn't there some colloquialism on the nature of insanity that fit this situation?

She felt vaguely irritated that she had forgotten to ask Tali if they were even making any progress on the geth. If this was only a futile gesture in hope so far, all speculation on the matter was academic.

With a pang of guilt, she pushed that hard thought away. This situation was anything but academic. It was anything but academic for Joker, who hadn't been the same since EDI died. It was anything but academic for the quarians, who had forged a peaceful symbiosis with their creations before having them taken away.

"_Captain?" _ It took her a moment to realize it was Joker; his voice was so hoarse it was difficult to recognize. _"Could you come to the cockpit?"_

"Y-yeah." She cleared her throat. "I'll be there in a minute."

The beginnings of a headache fluttered in her temple but she maintained a resolute pace to the cockpit, though it felt a lot like a solitary walk to an execution. Things between her and Joker had not been the same since the end of the war. Understandably so. She couldn't fault him that.

She cleared her throat to announce herself. "What did you need?"

He didn't respond immediately, and she saw him turning an object she didn't recognize over in his hands. His gaze was very far away. "What do you think you'll do?" he finally asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, is this something you'll support or not?"

She hated the cold and distant tone of his voice, much more familiar twisting around sarcasm or a joke. She hated that this change was her doing. "I don't know yet," she said honestly.

His hands trembled over the little box. "I think you need to need to consider making this happen, Shepard."

"I will consider it," she told him, an edge to her voice. "You know it might not be the same."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't try to fix it. What you – what the Crucible did shouldn't be the last word for the geth and – for the geth." He visibly struggled against his anger, now; she could feel it almost like heat against her skin.

"The situation is different, now," she explained. "The geth might not be the way they were. They could be hostile, and then we'd be resigning the quarians and the rest of the galaxy to the same war they'd been fighting for hundreds of years. And so soon after the Reapers?" She frowned. "We can't rush blindly into this."

"Yeah. I've heard that before."

"Well, what do you want me to say? Sure, let's fire up and unshackle the AI in the hopes they'll appreciate it and decide not to kill us all like last time."

"That's not how it happened, and you know it!" Joker snapped. "The quarians attacked first. You know all of this."

"It doesn't change the fact that these new geth are unknowns, and that's not something we can really afford to have right now, not with the galaxy in the state it's in."

"That's –" Joker mashed his lips together abruptly, in an attempt to keep his words at bay.

"Speak freely, Lieutenant," she said. "Say what you mean to."

Joker took this as the permission he was waiting for. He craned around and she was briefly startled by his ferocity. "You killed them," he accused her.

"The Crucible did," she retorted.

"You activated the Crucible, which killed them."

It had been a pithy justification, anyway. "You weren't there. I chose the only option that would rid the galaxy of the Reapers, and I would do it again."

"That's your story, at least," Joker said.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"I'm saying it's convenient. No one was up there with you. No one knows if there had been another option that wouldn't have killed them all."

"I'm telling you that there wasn't. I'm telling you that it was the only choice if we wanted to defeat the Reapers once and for all. And I've never given you any reason to doubt my word before."

"Yeah, well. I think things changed after you killed - after you killed the geth."

"Oh, for the love of – just say it! I killed EDI!"

His face contorted into an expression she'd never seen. "She would have done anything to help you, Shepard. She _did _do everything to help you. She worried about you; an evil unshackled AI, worrying about helping you fight the Reapers. I bet you didn't know that – that you were the reason she decided to inhabit a mobile platform in the first place. But you didn't think twice about killing her when it was time to choose. You didn't think twice about maybe taking the hard route so that she could have lived!"

Shepard was abruptly aware of how angry she was, the way fury seethed in her blood and corrupted her thoughts. It made it impossible to be understanding and rational with a man obviously still wrestling with grief. It made it impossible to consider that he really had no idea, and that not a day went by where she didn't agonize over her choice and the deaths that resulted from it. "I've given you a lot of freedom on my ship, Lieutenant, but you're on dangerous ground."

"If you didn't want to hear what I had to say, maybe next time don't tell me to speak freely," he said, his voice twisting the words sarcastically.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?" another voice cut in. It was Kaidan. He strode up to the cockpit, immaculate and cold and furious all in one, and she was so desperately glad to see him she couldn't breathe for a second. "You're speaking to your commanding officer," he reminded Joker icily. "You'll address her with respect."

"Yes, sir," Joker said bitterly, turning back to his console.

"Are you going to need to report to the brig, or do you have yourself under control?"

"That won't be necessary," Shepard quickly cut in. "Resume your post." With that, she strode away in the direction of the elevator, Kaidan hot on her heels.

To his credit, Kaidan waited to say anything until they were back in the cabin. "You want to tell me what that was about?" he asked carefully.

For the first time in her memory, she didn't want to tell him. Part of it was she was having trouble putting words to her thoughts, but another was that she'd kept what happened with the Crucible pressed tightly to her chest, a heavy secret that wouldn't be ignored but couldn't be shared, impossible to voice due to her grief and shame.

She took a deep breath and spoke in a controlled monotone. "Tali called. The quarians are being harassed by the mercs, so we're diverting to Rannoch. They're rebuilding the geth."

He watched her with a measured expression, waiting for her to continue and frowning a bit when she didn't. "What was that about with Joker?"

She turned away from him, the better to hide her traitorous anger. "It's nothing."

"Sam . . ."

"Kaidan, I'm sorry. I can't talk about this now."

He wasn't pleased. "If this is something that is going to affect the mission –"

"Of course it affects the mission," she snapped. "It affects everything. It hounds me constantly, every single day and often when I finally manage to get some sleep."

"I'm not attacking you," he said evenly, taking a step closer. "I'm just concerned."

Most of the time, his concern and care for her were her most treasured possessions, but now they were stifling, overbearing to a degree she couldn't articulate. "I - goddammit, Kaidan. I said I can't talk about this!"

She felt monstrously guilty the moment that words left her mouth. He didn't crumple or withdraw from her, he didn't lash out like another person might have. Of course not; he was Kaidan, and most of the time he was in total control of himself. That must be nice, she thought bitterly. "Try and see this from my angle," he said softly. "I walk up to you and Joker having a pretty impressive screaming match in the middle of the CIC. This is the most upset I've seen you in a long time. Can you understand why this would concern me?"

"Of course I can," she snapped. "It's not that I don't want to talk about this, it's that I don't . . . I don't know how." Defeated, she sat on the corner of the bed and fisted her hands in her hair, her nails digging against her scalp.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he took a careful seat beside her, consciously keeping an inch of space between them. He held her shoulder in a gesture of such boundless support that her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away angrily. What had she done to deserve this man?

She took a breath and began to speak. "The Crucible . . . the Illusive Man insisted that it could be used to control the Reapers. Anderson and the rest insisted that it was a weapon that we could use to destroy them once and for all. But when I finally activated it, the . . . well I don't know what else to call it. The Catalyst informed me that it was both and neither, that it could be used to force genetic rewrite on every sapient form in the galaxy, so that all of us would be part Reaper, part organic. It informed me that this solution was preferable to the others, because otherwise there would always be war against organics and synthetics."

Kaidan said nothing, though she saw him struggle to process what she said.

"So to end everything, I had to choose. Would I control the Reapers, like the Illusive Man wanted? Would I synthesize them, like the Catalyst wanted? I made it clear to that . . . thing that I was going to destroy the Reapers. It was what I set out to do and nothing would stop me.

"The Catalyst informed me that destroying the Reapers would come at a terrible cost. The Crucible would destroy all synthetic lifeforms – the geth and EDI. It would even kill me, because of my synthetic parts that brought me back. It wouldn't discriminate."

His hand tightened on her shoulder. "You mean . . .?"

"I chose to destroy them regardless. I didn't expect to survive. I knew I would die, and I knew the geth and EDI would die with me. But I thought that sacrifice would be worth it, in the end. I can't remember how many times I told everyone I would do whatever it took to get rid of the Reapers; what kind of person would I be if I balked in the face of that choice?

"But I didn't die. I lived, while EDI and the geth died. Every day I walk by the cockpit, every time I give Joker an order, I remember that I chose to kill the person he loved to get rid of the Reapers. He accused me of taking the easy way out, and . . . well, sometimes I wonder if I did."

"Shepard—"

"Let me get through this, Kaidan. I wonder if things might have been better if I chose to force everyone in the galaxy to synthesize with the Reapers. The Catalyst kept talking about it was the 'final stage of evolution' and that it was the correct path. And I just couldn't see it. I kept remembering Mordin pacing in his lab, lecturing about how the Collectors had stagnated because they no longer evolved. And controlling the Reapers? I spent every moment arguing with the Illusive Man that _no one_ could bear that responsibility, that it was just asking for trouble later down the line.

"I don't think I could have chosen anything else. But . . . I don't know. I'll never know. All I know is that right now, there are people suffering because of what I chose. Joker was insubordinate, absolutely, but he was _right. _That's why I'm angry; because I can't in good conscience tell him he was out of line. I can't tell the quarians that they have no right to rebuild the geth, not after I took them away."

"But Joker _was _out of line," Kaidan insisted immediately. "Regardless of what happened and what you feel you did, you are the commanding officer of this ship and that position is entitled respect."

"I - you're right," she said. "It's just such a bullshit situation. If the tables were turned and his choices resulted in your death, you better believe I'd be holding it against him. I wouldn't be able to let that go, no matter what respect he was due." She was quiet for a moment. "I'd go to my grave with that axe to grind."

He took both of her shoulders in his hands and she leaned into the strength of them, the support that he offered without expectation. "I just want you to know that if it was me that had to make that choice, I would have chosen the same thing."

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because it was the right choice. Because we promised to defeat the Reapers, and we weren't truly going to do so with half-measures. There was always going to be a sacrifice for that end."

She leaned into him and he pressed his lips to her brow. "I doubt I'll ever get past feeling guilty about this, but . . . hearing you would have done the same helps."

"I'm not just saying it. It's the truth."

"I know."

He lifted a hand to her cheek. "It's easy for people to talk about what they would have done in a high-stakes, high-pressure situation, but no one ever really knows, not until they've lived it."

"Yeah. I just . . . I look at this situation with the quarians and the geth, and I can't help but to be a little gun shy. How many hundreds of years did the quarians and the geth fight? How easy was it for Saren to take control of the heretics and use them for his own purposes? Synthetic life is a very complicated issue, and it's not something I should rush into because of my guilt." She chewed on her lip. "And I mean, I know why my reticence would put Joker off. I'm talking about passing up the only chance he might ever have to see the person he loves again."

"You right, though—that can't affect doing the right thing."

"But what _is _the right thing to do? There's no guarantee that the geth would be peaceful, but there's no guarantee that things would happen the way they did either. I can't involve the Council and blacklist the quarians just because of a fear of a speculation. That's what the Catalyst tried to do – tried to get me to choose to control or synthesize because it thought peace was impossible between organics and synthetics, even though we saw the exact opposite only a few weeks before!"

He was quiet a moment. "So you're leaning toward allowing this?"

"There's no allowing about it. I think the quarians will do what they will regardless. But yes . . . I'm starting to think we should support this."

"Are you thinking about this because you feel guilty, or . . . ?"

"Partially." Her lips twisted. "But I think Joker and Tali are right. The quarians won't fear the geth if they achieve sentience this time; in fact, I think that's what they're trying for. They've learned from their past, and it isn't right to continue to punish them for it."

Kaidan considered this. "I don't know. It's hard to forget what the geth are capable of, not after what we saw."

"Well, look. I'm not going to make up my mind about anything until I see firsthand what the quarians are up to. And sadly a lot of it is irrelevant. They're being targeted by the mercs, and addressing that is our first priority."

"You're right."

"But . . . thank you." She pushed a bit of hair out of her eyes, suddenly self-conscious. "Thank god you're the balanced one, otherwise we'd never stop arguing."

"That's not true," he countered gently. "I have my moments."

"They're so rare they're hardly worth mentioning."

He smiled and brushed his lips against hers, and she felt the great knot in her chest loosen each moment he touched her with such implacable care, as if she wasn't a silly, raving lunatic but an equal. It was perhaps a bit selfish and arrogant, but she knew there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for Kaidan; she would strive to show him the love and understand he showed her so easily for the rest of her natural life.

* * *

When Jack worked up a temper, she could maintain it indefinitely without additional encouragement. Instead, she would find fuel for her anger and feed it endlessly, because anger was oftentimes the closest she came to having control over a situation. Anger felt like doing something when there was nothing to be done.

So yeah. She was pissed. She felt like her temper boiled in her blood, making it difficult to think about anything other than the many things that upset her: her worry for Shepard, the situation with the mercs, the burrowing regard for James that she could not exorcise, no matter how hard she tried.

Scowling, she ducked through a fetid alleyway and kicked aside a soaked pile of garbage. It always came back to that stupid tank of a man. Every loose worry churning in her skull could be traced back to him, led as if by breadcrumbs. The mercs? She worried about his ability to engage them, and feared that anything should happen to him. Shepard? She fumed that Shepard had put them together in the first place; if it hadn't been for Shepard, she'd never have known James. She'd never have had to contend with this sneaking, increasing care that refused to be defeated.

Without even consciously deciding to, Jack took off in the direction of one of Omega's many clubs. This one was not as popular or well known as Afterlife – not every institution could boast being Aria's preference, after all – but it made a decent enough business off the dregs. The drinks were passable and the music tolerable. She'd make do; she always did.

She wouldn't lie; she wanted a drink and a chance to be alone with her drowning thoughts. But she also wanted to get to work. This diversion to Omega wasn't for kicks; they had something to accomplish, and she'd be fucked if she let that slide because of _James._ She had a feeling the mercs would operate in the lesser known places of Omega, and she was already intimately familiar with these places. She hated admitting it, but she was perfect for this job.

Clamping a cigarette between her lips, she fished out her lighter from one of her pockets and struck a flame, cupping her hand around it to keep it from sputtering out. It felt like years since she'd enjoyed a cigarette on her own.

Part of her expected James to saunter up to her side. He'd found her enough times that it was starting to become a fixture of these excursions, boiled perfectly down to a very simple formula. She'd get it in her head to find some solitude; her thoughts would drift to him, and voila! He'd show up as if by thinking about him she'd summoned him through time and space to nettle her.

It disturbed her to acknowledge that she wanted him to show up. It was upsetting to recognize she was starting to enjoy his little diversions. Goddammit.

Well, fine. It was clear things were not working the way they were. Ignoring him was a bust. Avoiding the situation was futile. Being an asshole to him backfired more than not, which she should have expected. And there was another consideration there, too; that someday soon she'd exhaust his patience and he'd wash his hands of her. Sure, maybe that'd be for the best. But damn it all if it didn't hurt to think about.

It was clear she'd have to come to a new solution if she was going to achieve anything approaching functionality.

Something Shepard said rattled around in her thoughts, insistent and as irritating as splinters under her nails. She had suggested to just . . . go with it. Let it lead where it would. Like it was that easy! Maybe for Shepard it was. She didn't have to mistrust her own thoughts and feelings; for fear that they would lead her astray. She didn't have to second guess every little thing that went through her head, all in the interest of protecting against further pain.

Jack resisted the urge to smash something in temper. That was the last time she'd ever listen to anything Shepard said.

But she couldn't deny that the prospect of letting it happen was attractive, in its own, dishonest way. Jack knew full well how things would end, but oh – the ride would be something to feel. She must be losing her grasp on the situation, since the thought of taking things as they came and saying fuck all to the consequences didn't immediately choke her familiar fear.

She'd been about to stub out her cigarette on the bar when she caught a glimpse of a nondescript group of men clustered in the corner of the bar, heads together. Her intuition flickered and she moved closer while making a show of angling for a better spot at the bar.

There were four of them, similarly armored with no identifying marks. Not affiliated with any of the big groups, then; she quickly deduced that they were either freelancers or members of the shadow cell. She craned closer, straining to listen to their conversation without giving herself away.

" . . . bastards got away," one was saying, hardly audible over the noise of the club.

"Got four ships, too," another said, and Jack suppressed her reaction. Were they talking about the trap at the Antietam?

"Abrax isn't happy."

"He'll have to get over it. He can't have everything he wants."

"Damn right."

"The way he's burning through us we're going to have to open our doors again."

The first merc recoiled as if he'd tasted something awful. "I don't like it."

"No one cares about what you like."

"Fuck off, will you?"

"Watch it. We don't get the luxury of likes, remember. We do what we have to if things are going to change."

These were definitely members of the shadow cell, chatting openly about their plans in the middle of a club! Jack bit down on her tongue. It was loud in here but not that loud, not if Jack could pick up their conversation. The first merc seemed to have the same idea, for he leaned closer. "Will you shut the fuck up?" he hissed.

"Yeah, fine. We should move anyway."

The mercs tossed a pile of credits on the table and shuffled out of the club. Jack deliberated for a half second; this could be her chance to learn more, but she was alone. In the end, she threw caution to the wind and nonchalantly pushed away from the bar before following them into Omega's streets.

She trailed them cautiously, careful to keep as much distance between them as she could manage. They meandered through the lower districts before taking the lifts to the upper levels and filtering downward. She wondered briefly if they suspected they were being followed, because there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to their path.

It was over before too long. She turned away for one second and when she looked back, they were gone. She searched the alleys as thoroughly as she dared before throwing in the towel. She might have lost them, but she knew more than she did a few minutes ago. The mercs were definitely on Omega, they were looking for new members, and they were led by someone named 'Abrax'.

Of course it was an unfamiliar name, she groused to herself as she made her way back to the tiny apartment in the slums. She knew a lot of the career criminals in the Terminus on a first name basis, but she'd never heard of anyone going by that name or anything like it. But if she could discover that much within her first hours on Omega, she had a good feeling about the rest of the mission.

About time, honestly.

She had been fantasizing about the look on James' face after she told him what she learned – stunned, probably, and maybe a hint of respect. Maybe something else, something she was growing to anticipate, need even. When she keyed in the lock code and stepped inside the apartment, though, she found it completely empty.

She froze, her mind spinning with frantic speculation. Had someone taken him? Did he cut and run? Had he gone out with the intention of coming back only to run into trouble? She found it suddenly hard to breath. Stupid, _stupid! _Why did she leave him alone? Why did he run off? Why did she think he'd be smart enough to stay put while she figured things out?

Why did she expect him to?

She wasn't inclined toward logic at the best of times, but even she knew rushing out to find him would be the opposite of effective, especially if he had just run out for something. So she waited, growling and furious and mad enough to spit glass. She paced the pathetic length of their apartment and waited for him to return, turning over a dozen half-formed thoughts, some of which were furious, some of which were desperate.

It had only been about twenty minutes when she heard the lock disengage, but it felt more like twenty years. She rounded on him, unmoved by his stupidly sweet surprise. "Where the fuck were you?" she hissed, pissed beyond reasoning. Her body shook with more adrenaline and anger than she knew what to do with. There was something else to it, also; relief that he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere, and the same sucker-punch desire that hit her whenever she made the mistake of looking at him too long.

James gestured to the bag in his arms, frowning. "I went out to get some food. I thought I'd have something ready when you got back."

There was just something about him. He was too good at derailing her rage, diffusing it with his awkward, stupid brand of affection. "You - you – fuck. I thought something had . . . just don't fucking do that to me again."

"Hold on a second," he said, letting the bag thunk to the floor and fixing her with a penetrating look. "Why are you so pissed?"

She spluttered incoherently, searching for an acceptable answer (since the truth sure as hell wasn't). "What does it matter?"

"It matters because you're spitting mad and I'm not really sure what I did. You went off on your own, I did the same. Why are you angry about it?" he asked again, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

There was no answer other that the truth, so instead of confess this she kept her mouth shut against the words, shaking in her impotent rage.

She should have known that he'd figure it out anyway; he seemed to have gained a preternatural sense of her thoughts and motivations in the time they'd spent together. His expression shifted from expectation to dawning understanding in the blink of an eye. "Ah ha. I get it."

"You get what?"

"You were worried!"

"Like hell I was!"

"If you weren't worried, you wouldn't be angry. If you didn't care, me being here or gone wouldn't have affected you at all," he pointed out logically, even a little smug.

"So you know all about it, then," she snapped. "Please, continue to dictate to me how I feel. Since you're the expert."

"Jesus, Jack," he said. "Why can't you answer the question?"

She wanted to fight him, because anger was easier than admitting that he was right about everything. Anger was easier than acknowledging the way he looked at her and realizing it was perfectly mirrored in her own deepest self. She didn't back away when he took a step closer, reviling and thrilling in his proximity. The truth was she couldn't answer the question because she couldn't even think of a functional lie when he looked at her like that.

"Because there is no answer," she hissed.

He took another step closer, so that they were almost touching. She thrilled at the size of him, the heat coming off the skin, the heat in his eyes. She knew instinctively that he'd worried just like she had – that when she'd run off the only thing that kept him from chasing after her was that she told him to stay, all due to the care he inexplicably felt for her. If she didn't angle for another escape, they'd find themselves entwined on the bed just like before, and she knew that this time she'd have nowhere to run.

"Come on. I'm not a genius but I'm not a moron either," he insisted.

"Could have fooled me," she fired back half-heartedly. Already, she knew it was futile.

"You're afraid."

"I'm not."

"I'm looking right at you, and I see afraid."

"I'm not!" she insisted, as if saying it more loudly could make it true.

He lifted a finger to her cheek, and god- she thrilled at his touch. She hated that one simple gesture could feel so amazing. "You're shaking."

"I'm angry, that's why."

"Because no one's ever been angry and afraid before," he countered, though the sarcasm didn't bite like it should have. It only sounded tender instead.

How easily her plans fell apart! Hadn't she resolved to avoid this inevitable conclusion, to ignore what seethed between them? But there was no ignoring this, not when it was the fuel that beat her heart, not when it was the only thing that sent her breath racing with her thudding pulse. "I hate you," she lied in a broken whisper.

"Do you really?"

She didn't, not really. She hated that one look in his eyes was all it took to affirm that she lied, the way he looked at her half-wanting, half-hurt. She hated that he seemed to know her already, despite her most desperate efforts. She hated that Shepard was right and there was no use in trying to cut him out completely. But she didn't hate him.

She forgot that she was supposed to tell him what she learned about Abrax and the mercs. She forgot that she was holding out against their shared desire, that she wasn't supposed to be the one that broke in the face of it. And yet, she was the one who reached for him first. She was the one who gave in.

It was different this time. On Earth, he'd been tender and she'd allowed it. But now they were angry, pissed at the situation and driven to roughness by the unbearable tension that seemed to increase every moment they didn't act on it. She shoved him against the wall so violently that it knocked the breath out of him, and he retaliated with a kiss that seared down to the bottoms of her feet, her very bones.

He was too rough and she loved it. He tore her shirt as he ripped it over her head, his strong hands rending and pillaging what he needed. She was all too happy to retaliate. She bit his sensuous lips, made her hands into claws and raked them up the long stretches of his back, relishing his gasps against her mouth. His hands were too rough on her breasts, and she wanted it that way. She needed it.

They battled for control, each refusing to give ground, each made warlike in the face of screaming desire. He pinned her to the bed and she shoved at him, pushing and pulling before yielding for breath. Each kiss was like a blow to the head, reverberating through her skull, echoing in the sudden void where her fears had been, shuddering as a plucked string does. His hands encircled around her wrists and she glowed, arcing under him, bowing like a beam. She launched upright when he least expected it and pinned him quickly, grinning like a savage when he moaned into her, bucking and desperate. She was taunting and hammered taut, and finally he was powerless under her.

What manifested as mercy surprised her. She didn't string him along to leave him twisting alone. She captured his lips between her teeth and drank the way his breath caught and hitched as she moved above him. She – short, small, insignificant – led this powerful man to water and let him take his fill. He would have danced on the sun if she asked him.

His hands bruised where they touched, his fingers leaving traces in her flesh like imprints in sand. She would look at them tomorrow and see them mirrored in his own dark skin. She would know that they marked each other as belonging to the other, and in that breathless, shuddering moment, she didn't care. She needed it.

**AN: Next time - Jack and James deal with the fallout and go merc hunting, and the Normandy crew gets a surprise on Rannoch. **


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Special thanks to ebidebi, stephivass, Anon1, Dandy in the Aspic, Anon2, gracie21, JemmaP, Anon3, jay8008, millahnna, Cortina2, Ellwyndara, greeneyedkirk, CuHnadian, Anon4, and CyanB for your fantastic reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed. You guys are awesome.**

**I wanted to get back to some of the earlier camaraderie we saw between James and Jack in the first chapters - it occurred to me they've been fighting A LOT. I hope it's believable! Also other fun things in this chapter .. **

**Please leave me a review and share your thoughts with me, because I love hearing them! Thanks for reading, all.  
**

James wasn't surprised that his interest in Jack constantly backfired. He knew enough about her to expect that much. She was wild and unpredictable, hurt and defensive. One moment she was spitting with anger, the next she was kissing him so fiercely that he couldn't think at all, even if he was inclined to at the best of times. And he wasn't.

She tested him in ways he hadn't even known it was possible to be tested. She was reckless and did not seem to think about running into trouble – the consequences of being one of the most powerful biotics in the galaxy, he guessed. You weren't used to losing. But she could – and so easily! When she took off on her own _on Omega, for fuck's sake, _he'd tried to go after her. He'd lost her in those brief seconds.

He paced. He raged. He knew that blowing up at her would send her running, and for some fucking reason that was the last thing he wanted. He knew that throwing his worry in her face would turn her defensive, when all he wanted was to bring her out. Slowly, bit by bit. He forced himself to buy food in a desperate attempt to find his calm again, to handle this increasingly stupid situation with something approaching control.

He'd almost choked on his tongue when he found her back in the apartment, pacing furiously, a trace of biotic power rolling off her skin in a slightly terrifying manifestation of her temper. And that's when it hit him – she was angry because she was _worried!_ He'd been gone and she assumed the worst. They knew an identical fear, one that's a lot like a choking fist.

So . . . he kind of lost it. Hindsight was 20/20, supposedly, and he knew better. He knew there would be fallout, and it would probably be even worse than the last time, because there wasn't anywhere for her to hide, so the full brunt of her frustration and anger would turn to him. But to be fair, she had wanted it. She had initiated it. And really, he knew enough about himself to know that once she started things, he'd be right there with her.

James suspected it would be tempting fate to think that the fallout would be worth it, but . . . it was worth it. God, was it worth it. It was worth the bruises, the bloody lip, the screaming match that would follow. It was worth it just to feel her under his hands, chasing patterns over her skin. It was worth knowing the need in her, mirroring that desperation that he wrestled with. The feel of her, _oh fuck—_

And then it was over. Already he could see the desire on her face fading into her typical expression – defensive anger. As if he'd tricked her, somehow! As if this was a joke and he was the punchline. And though he could already tell the first words out of her mouth would be something biting and sharp, he couldn't help but to find her insanely gorgeous; the weird light of the apartment on her skin, her hair pressed against her sweaty forehead, taut thighs banding, breasts -

"God _damn it," _she hissed, leaping off him and making a beeline for the bathroom. He heard the sputtering of the shower drown out a low stream of cursing, punctuated every now and then by a loud banging. Probably her fist slamming against the wall.

He decided it was probably a good idea to leave her alone for now.

Though, it can't have been _that _bad? He frowned – maybe that was the problem. He wasn't really in a position to know. For him, it had been – well, he was still trying to string a thought together. But maybe it was terrible for her; maybe he was just as a big and stupid and inept as he feared, and this whole thing was just some strange expression of latent masochism, or even worse, _pity. _

He wasn't a moron. He knew fully well that it would probably be a better idea to cut his losses and move the hell on. That was the logical thought. That was smart.

He didn't want to be smart.

Sighing, he rolled to his feet and settled his pants over his hips. He rinsed by the kitchen sink, eyeing the still occupied shower covetously. Stupid; yes. Suicidal; definitely. A thousand other self-deprecating descriptors. That was one thing he was good at; finding new, interesting ways to give himself a hard time.

Probably best not to think about it anymore. For now. Jack would burst out of the shower, wet and mused and irritated – and _beautiful– _and he'd have to deal with it all over again. But for now, he could pick up the discarded groceries he'd snagged on the cheap and make something to eat. He was fucking starving, and he bet his left foot that she would be too.

He tossed the ingredients in the pan without really paying attention. Not that he needed to, exactly; he'd made _huevos con chorizo_ so many times back home that he could do it blindfolded and backwards. He counted himself pretty lucky they'd even had the ingredients at the market, though now that he thought about it there were definitely more humans here, and it made sense they'd figure out a way to get the food they liked in the place they lived.

When Jack finally stomped out of the shower, he'd almost finished making the meal. He didn't turn when he heard the door open (though he would have liked to see her).

She cleared her throat. He half expected her to say 'what the fuck are you doing here', in keeping with tradition and all. "James, I—"

"Are you hungry?" he interrupted without turning back to face her. "I figured you might be."

There was a pause, and she let a terse breath out through her nose. "Yeah," she said finally, like an exhale of defeat. "Yeah."

He doled out a large serving – biotics needed more food, he remembered – and passed the plate to her. And it was just like he expected. The sight of her – mused and damp from the shower, looking for all the world as if she expected to be hurt – knocked the breath right out of him. It didn't matter that she probably wanted nothing to do with him, outside of whatever motivated her to want to fuck him. He'd take what she would give, and try to give more in return.

She was quiet for a moment, taking a bite and chewing deliberately. He searched her expression for any indication that she enjoyed it, but she was either distracted or suddenly an expert at masking. "Before you - before. . . fuck. I was going to tell you that I learned something before _we _fucked."

All thoughts to the awkward situation fell away, and something like a fist clenched in his gut. "What happened?"

She seemed relieved not to be talking about what had happened between them. "I overheard some guys talking in a club. It was suspicious." She fished a cigarette out of her pocket and unconsciously he leaned closer to give her a light. "They talked about how they'd just lost four ships, and someone named 'Abrax' wasn't happy about it. They mentioned they'd have to start opening their doors again, and then they got suspicious and left." She shoveled another bite in her mouth. "I followed them."

His reaction didn't surprise him, exactly. The anger was back, bred from a sick worry that something could have easily happened to her and he'd have been in no position to do anything about it. "Are you crazy?"

"Probably," she said easily. "I lost them after a while." She glanced up at him. "Nothing happened."

"Something could have."

"But nothing did." She was defensive now; daring him to blow up at her.

It took every ounce of his effort not to. It wasn't that she didn't know something could happen to her; she knew fully well. She actively sought out trouble. "Can we agree not to wander off on our own anymore?"

"Why?"

"Because something could happen," he insisted. "You've lived here. You know this is a shitpile. You know how easy it is for people to disappear and show up dead months later. Just . . . humor me. All right?"

She looked like she wanted to argue. It was a common enough expression for Jack; that razor-sharp glare she leveled at anyone who stepped to her, daring them to take her on. But to his surprise, she did consider it. The expression faltered – a bit of color even rose in her cheeks - and she looked away. "Fine. You hold up your end, I'll . . . hold up mine."

"I appreciate it."

"Yeah, yeah."

He wouldn't dwell on this small victory, or that she didn't go to the mat and fight him over it for hours, like he expected. He pushed ahead, though he would have liked to grin. "Do you remember where you lost them?" he asked her.

"Around the Mikaru district."

Just as he feared. "That's pretty deep in merc territory. I thought Aria said they were operating more like freelancers."

"Maybe they were just passing through?"

"Maybe," he said, though he wasn't convinced.

Jack took a drag on her cigarette, and a bit of ash drifted down on her pants. "Whenever you're ready, _we _can go check it out. Since, you know, you don't trust me to handle things on my own."

She was baiting him again, but it was a halfhearted attempt at best. "Yeah, that's right," he said. "Or, you know. It could be I don't trust myself to handle things on my own."

"That would be smart," she fired back, smirking a little. "You don't have the benefit of freakishly powerful biotics at your disposal."

"Hey. I do well enough without."

"Please. It's almost tragic, when you think about it. Why shoot a man when you could break him apart with your mind instead?"

"If you know what you're doing, shooting someone is a good, clean kill. A fast one. You can move on and keep on the defensive as long as you need."

"Yeah, I don't need to be defensive," she said, and a flash of biotic power surged around her left hand, which curled into a fist. "I can do whatever I want."

"It's not like you're invulnerable," he said, scowling. "Remember the Antietam?"

Her smug expression faltered. "I wasn't paying attention."

"I wonder why," he said sarcastically. "It couldn't possibly be because you have some kind of god complex or anything."

"I don't have a god complex," she fired back.

"Huh. 'I don't need to be defensive. I can do whatever I want.' Sound familiar?"

She fumed. "I wasn't paying attention because – never mind."

"No, I want to hear it."

She suddenly seemed overly defensive, as if she expected to be mocked. "I was worried about Shepard. And – and Hannah," she admitted under her breath. "Before you turn into a smug asshole, there's no reason to get excited about it."

That she worried about her friend and her friend's child enough to be distracted was surprising and tender. Surprising because Jack made it pretty clear she wasn't interested in softer things like concern. She barreled through life like a battering ram, knocking aside whatever got in her way. He wouldn't admit it to himself - because that whole strain of thinking was stupid and therefore off limits – but it was encouraging to see. There was something hopeful about it.

"I'm not," he grinned. "It's just nice."

"_Nice!" _she spluttered.

"Now who's getting excited? _Dios mio. _Calm down. God forbid anyone think you're nice."

"Laugh about it some more, why don't you," she snapped. "It's really making this whole arrangement even more attractive."

He shook his head. "I don't know how you live without being able to laugh at yourself."

"I'm not funny, for one."

"Yeah, you are."

"No."

He considered, biting down on the urge to grin at her outrage. "You can be," he amended.

"Not intentionally," she scowled. "What's so great about finding yourself funny, anyway?"

"Because if you don't take yourself too seriously, this kind of thing just rolls off your back. It doesn't get under your skin. You don't have to give a shit."

"I _don't," _she argued.

"Sure, okay."

"I mean it!"

"I believe you," he said, a little startled by her intensity. "It was just an observation."

"You have a lot of those."

He grinned. "I'll try to cut back."

They lapsed into silence. He watched her push the food around her plate, her brief irritation fading into something more like worry or discomfort. Her brows pinched together. "I . . . I don't think— fuck."

He would have changed the subject for her again, except this time she honestly looked as if she needed to say whatever she grappled with now. An odd twinge of foreboding curdled in his gut.

"I can't do what we – I can't do this whole thing. I'm not cut out for it. I figured I should tell you because . . . well, it was my fault both times. And - fuck. I don't know."

He'd gotten this talk before- the '_it's not you, it's me'_ talk. But there was something about the way she spoke that made him suspect that this wasn't just a way to let him down easy; that this was something she actually believed. Maybe in the subtle curving of her shoulders – expecting anger or retaliation – or the way she turned away from him, almost afraid.

He considered his answers, weighing the truth against what he knew she needed to hear. "I don't expect anything out of you," he said finally. "I'm not some mooning teenager who thinks fucking means eternal love and commitment, if that's what you're afraid of. If that's all you want, then that's fine with me."

That was true enough. If he had to choose between accepting what she could give and being without her, he would choose the first option without even having to think about it. It would hurt when she got bored and moved on – and he knew that was inevitable. She would get bored, because he didn't have anything to offer otherwise. But for now, she'd made a derelict out of him. He wouldn't be picky.

She considered this. "Really?" she asked, skeptical. "This wouldn't turn into love? You wouldn't start hurling confessions at me? Because if that's a possibility, then I'm not interested. _At all."_

"It's not," he told her. And he took this to mean that no matter what, he would keep his mouth shut. He would never confess what he knew curled in him, settling in for the long haul. He would accept this _thing _on her terms, and hers alone.

"I hope you mean that," she said, her intensity a bit startling. "I – I'm not going to tolerate anything more. You say that you can do this on a casual level? That's fine with me. I can do that. I will not be prodded or manipulated or convinced into anything else. I won't be pressured by guilt or your feelings or whatever. So . . . get used to that."

"That's kind of presumptuous, don't you think?" he asked her, trying for levity. "Maybe I'm not interested in anything more than a casual fuck either."

Her reaction surprised him. She froze for a long moment before drawing away, and he saw something close behind her eyes. "Then that's perfect," she said tightly.

"Do you settle up this contract with all the men you sleep with?"

"No. I leave them before we get to this point."

He didn't know whether to be upset or relieved at this. He wasn't crazy about the idea of other men touching her, though he knew he had no right to have a say on the matter. But he did like that even though this was casual, he was set apart from the others. "Gotcha."

She leaned closer, her eyes like daggers. "I want your word, then. I want a promise that this is casual business only between friends. Nothing more."

He couldn't help a grin. "Are we friends now?"

"Don't push it."

"I'm not pushing anything! You're the one who said it."

A long suffering sigh. "I guess we are," she said at last. "And that's it."

Friends was more than he had any right to expect a few days ago, let alone this sudden arrangement the two of them had stumbled into. He'd take it and be grateful. He'd take it as the incredible luck it was. He'd take it and give whatever she would tolerate. "That's it," he agreed.

* * *

The Normandy was able to reach the Tikkun system in about a day. Kaidan hadn't expected it to have changed much, but it was odd to see the geth space stations littered through the system, floating and empty as hollow graves.

The geth stations were empty, but the system itself was not. Unaffiliated merc ships prowled around Rannoch, patrolling the space from the planet to the relay. They did not have the ordinance to hit Rannoch with an orbital strike and thus wipe out the quarians for good, but they had enough manpower and tactical acumen to make life difficult for them.

"Easy," Shepard said, her hand curling on the back of Joker's chair. "Keep us quiet."

"Aye, ma'am."

Kaidan heard the tense note between them, but both seemed to have decided to try and pretend the argument had not happened. He was not happy with what had transpired so he was watchful for any further disrespect, but Joker seemed to have said all he needed to. He obeyed her orders as promptly and skillfully as ever, and gave no sign he resented them.

Kaidan and Shepard were armed and armored. Hannah was with Dr. Chakwas. The ship's stealth systems were fully engaged, so that the only way the mercs would know they were there was if they looked out a window. Even still, the atmosphere on the ship was tense.

They only needed to sneak past the blockade to get groundside. Easier said than done.

Joker's hands trembled over the console and Kaidan saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. His brow was beaded with sweat. "These aren't geth ships," he said through his teeth. "They have windows, you know."

"Do your best," Shepard told him.

Joker seemed to take this as a challenge instead of assurance. He brought them around until Rannoch hung in full view, a pale blue dot in the void. They waited with the watchful silence of a held breath. And beyond the Normandy, the merc ships prowled in an organized fashion, dipping in and out of Rannoch's orbit, the glow of their engines stark against the darkness.

"Shit," Joker hissed as one merc ship suddenly reversed its course, approaching steadily.

"Have they seen us?"

"No," Joker bit out. He tweaked the controls and eased them around the circumference of Rannoch until the ship could not be seen past the curve of the planet. When he was assured of the distance, his subtly changed direction and the Normandy slipped through Rannoch's atmosphere without so much of a single degree of spiked heat.

They buzzed in low atmo until they reached the coordinates Tali had sent them. Only when they touched down on solid earth did they let out the collective breath they'd been holding.

"Nicely done, Lieutenant," Shepard said, and though Kaidan saw her hesitate, she rested her hand on Joker's shoulder for one brief second.

"Thank you, ma'am," Joker said formally. He set about initiating the airlock procedure, but before Kaidan and Shepard could step through onto the surface of Rannoch, he stood jerkily, holding his hands out to them. "Wait."

Shepard watched him carefully as he limped to her side. "What is it?"

Joker rummaged through his pocket and pressed something into Shepard's hands. "Can you give this to Tali?" he asked her, suddenly desperate.

Shepard frowned, turning it over in her hands. "What is it?"

"It doesn't matter. Tali will know what to do with it."

Shepard didn't like this, but she wasn't inclined to another argument, and there was something about the openly pleading cast to Joker's expression; he wasn't thinking about their fight. Whatever it was that Shepard held in her hands, it was more important than that. "All right," she said finally. "Stay frosty. We may need to bug out quick."

"Aye, ma'am."

Kaidan hit the airlock as Shepard turned the box over in her hands, inspecting it carefully. She stumbled a bit as they stepped off the Normandy and onto the dock. "Do you know what this is?" she asked after a long moment, when they were nearly to the quarian settlement.

Kaidan did know. He'd seen Joker with it every single day since the Reaper war ended. He'd suspected Joker's hands left permanent grooves in the smooth surface of the box, like impressions in sand. "It's EDI's blue box," he said finally.

Shepard nearly dropped it in surprise. "Oh my god," she breathed, craning to take a closer look at it. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

She was silent a moment. "He wants the quarians to rebuild her."

"It seems that way."

Shepard shook her head. "I . . . I'd love to think it's possible, but . . . the Catalyst said it wasn't. It told me whatever we managed to bring back wouldn't be the same. It would be a new creation, and it wouldn't know anything of our war or past. If they brought this blue box back online, it probably wouldn't know Joker from the rest of us."

Kaidan frowned. "That is a possibility, I suppose."

Shepard was quiet, her gaze fixed on the quarian settlement in the distance. "I don't know if I should give this to her."

Kaidan craned around. "What?! Why?"

"I don't know if this would be EDI. And say the quarians do rebuild it, bring it back online, and it doesn't recognize Joker. It doesn't remember the moments they'd shared, the things they'd said to one another. Would that help him?"

"No, but . . ." Kaidan took a breath. "I don't think it's right for you to decide that for him."

"His whole situation is my fault! Don't you think I should try and . . . I don't know. Try and make it less awful? Would it be better for him to stay like this – with a bit of hope – or know for certain that it wasn't possible?"

"You're not his mother. And you're not his keeper. It's not your place to decide that for him," Kaidan told her firmly. "He's decided what he wants; if you don't think you can do this, give the box to me and I'll take care of it. But this isn't something you get to dictate."

Shepard watched him for a long minute. "Why are you so adamant about this?"

"Because you mean well, but you're wrong. Joker isn't a child. He deserves the chance to make his own choices."

She let out a terse breath through her nose and passed the box into Kaidan's hands. "I don't agree with this," she said. "I think it will only lead to more pain."

Kaidan tucked the box under his arm. "Then the consequences will be on my head."

They walked the rest of the way to the quarian settlement in silence. He got the impression that she was a bit angry with him, but in this situation he decided that her anger was worth the outcome. Shepard was a woman accustomed to bearing the weight of many lives on her shoulders, and such responsibility also came with an increased sense of importance. She was kind and caring, and she absolutely meant well, but sometimes she couldn't see beyond her own opinion, and in this circumstance her opinion had no place. Joker's was the only one that mattered when it came to EDI.

When they reached the settlement, her irritation with him seemed to fade in favor of awe. The two of them craned around, drinking in the inexplicable sight of quarian architecture. They favored sleek lines and materials that would reflect in the dimmer light of Rannoch, even in total darkness. The quarians milling around the settlement still wore their suits, but Kaidan saw one woman take off her mask briefly and turn her face toward the dying sunlight, clearly still stunned that she was somewhat able to do so.

"Captain Shepard, Major Alenko?" a quarian man said, offering them a respectful salute. "Admiral Tali'Zorah is waiting for you."

He led them into one of the larger buildings and guided them through the winding hallways. This was a laboratory, Kaidan realized; behind each door, dozens of quarian technicians and engineers slaved over geth remains – either their blue boxes of the mobile platforms themselves. Kaidan saw one room where a mobile platform walked from one wall to the other, the quarian engineers taking studious notes. In another, a technician had a rudimentary conversation with a server holding hundreds of individual processes.

"They're much farther along than I thought they would be," Shepard whispered as an aside.

"They must have started rebuilding them as soon as the war was over," Kaidan replied.

"Huh."

Tali was waiting for them in one of the larger labs, directing a small group of technicians while parsing date on her Omni-tool, the light reflecting in her mask. She rested one small hand on the arm of a mobile platform before she saw them waiting in the doorway; Kaidan couldn't make any claims to her expression, but she seemed to brighten immediately.

"Shepard!" she cried, rushing forward and pulling Shepard into her arms. "You made it through."

"Of course," Shepard said, patting Tali on the back. "We've got the best pilot in the galaxy."

"That you do. Nice to see you again, Kaidan," Tali said to him and she embraced him as well, though with a bit more reserve.

"You've made a lot of progress here," he told her. "How long have you been working on this?"

"I've only been a part of the project since we got back a month ago," Tali explained, leading them through the halls. "But we began right after the preliminary settlements were constructed about four months after the war."

"You've done this in six months?" Shepard wondered. "I was under the impression it took the quarians many years to build the geth the first time around."

"Well, I'd say we've become pretty good at it," Tali mused. "We know what we're doing this time around. Though, we still have a long way to go. We aren't trying to create VI, we're trying to rebuild AI, just as they were."

"Any breakthroughs?" Kaidan asked.

"A few," Tali said, sighing. "Not enough."

"Right," Kaidan said. "I have something for you."

He expected Tali to be curious, but to his surprise she took the proffered box quick and tucked it under her arm. "Thank you," she said quickly. "I'll get right to work on this."

"You knew about it?"

"Of course." Tali cocked her head. "Joker contacted me yesterday. He asked me if I thought it was possible."

"And do you?" Shepard cut in, her voice hard.

"I told him I don't know if it is. I didn't want to say yes and then learn that it wasn't. But he insisted I try anyway." Tali paused for a moment. "So I intend to. EDI was a friend, and . . . well, I miss her. Don't you?"

"You know I do," Shepard said, a bit defensively.

"I will be sure to keep you posted on our progress, then," Tali told them. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to find the other Admirals. I'll be back soon, okay?"

"Sure, Tali."

Tali hurried from the room with the blue box still tucked under her arm. Shepard watched her go, a frown creasing her brow. "She seem a little nervous to you?"

"I imagine she's got a lot going on," Kaidan equivocated. "This is much more involved than I expected."

"You're telling me. Did you see? They've got some of them walking around and – and talking already. I thought they'd still be poking at wires and trying to figure circuits."

"Serves us right, I guess," Kaidan said, and he grinned. "This is their area of expertise."

"Yeah," Shepard said, trailing off. He watched her wander through the room, poking at the deactivated geth platforms with concerned interest, her mouth curving downward. He knew that the EDI situation weighed heavily on her and though she'd been wrong to try and shield Joker from disappointment, she hadn't intended to be cruel about it.

"Hey," he said, pulling closer. "What is it?"

"I just have a weird feeling," she said. "I don't know."

"Fair enough."

He'd been about to brush her cheek when her eyes widened with shock. She weaved around him and he spun toward the disturbance, which turned out to be a very familiar looking turian, still as grizzled and scarred as the last day they'd seen him.

"Garrus!"

Garrus flashed the turian equivalent of a grin and shouldered one of his familiar rifles, laughing a bit. "Shepard, Kaidan. Was wondering when you'd get your asses over here."

**AN: Next time, the Normandy crew forms a plan for Rannoch, and Jack and James make a breakthrough.**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Special thanks to Anon1, AnnaBanaBanana, stephivass, GahoCleric, greeneyedkirk, Alex9054, gracie21, Anon2, joy8008, Anon3, CyanB, CuHnadian, ebidebi, Ellwyndara, Dandy in the Aspic, Gyfted, and Anon4 for your awesome reviews and to everyone else who has read, faved and followed this story. You are all amazing.**

**I've put a due date on this story in this chapter, and it's kind of making me sad because I don't like thinking about ending it. WE still have quite a ways to go, for those of you reading along, so no worries yet!  
**

**Feel free to drop me a review if you are so moved, because getting them really makes my day! Thanks for reading, everyone.  
**

Shepard told Garrus once that there was no Shepard without Vakarian; their relationship was less friendship and more the bond between blood, and she embraced him as if he was family. "Shit, Vakarian," she said, laughing a little. "You show up in the damndest places."

That was their little reunion ritual; she'd told him the same when she'd stumbled upon him on Omega, and then again on Menae, his home burning in the sky above them. He steadied her a little. "You know me," he said lightly. "I go where I'm needed."

"There's no need on Palavan?"

Garrus shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, well . . . turns out there isn't much need for a Reaper expert these days."

And Shepard knew immediately; for a man who sought ways to help and make a difference and pursued crusades on behalf of those who were not able to help themselves, it made perfect sense that he would find himself back in the Terminus after the war. This place was a mess, even without considering the quarians and their suicidal plans.

"Well, there's always a need for good people in the Terminus," she said. "As you well know."

"You got it."

Shepard's easy grin faded as they lapsed into silence. Garrus was a highly principled man who didn't allow laws and strictures to get in the way of doing the right thing. It wasn't exactly strange to find him here – assisting with a rogue effort to reactivate the geth – but it was a little different from his usual crusades. "What do you make of this geth situation, Garrus?" she finally asked him.

Garrus shifted a bit on his feet – antsy or uncomfortable, she didn't know which. "A lot of angles to it," he mused. "Do we think about it in terms of their past? Or do we think about it in terms of how it ended, with them at peace? I don't know."

"Could you guess?"

Garrus sighed. "I don't know enough to guess. I'm pretty good with tech, but the geth are out of my depth. Have you seen some of this stuff?"

"Here, I thought we always acquitted ourselves pretty well in the tech department," Shepard said ruefully. "Nothing compared to the quarians, I guess."

"And that's why I'm thinking maybe this isn't such a bad idea," Garrus said. "The geth, I mean. Especially since they seem to be trying to restore them as they were; sentience and all. Just my opinion."

"Not that our opinions would mean anything," Shepard said.

"Probably not," Garrus agreed. "So. How are you two? How's Hannah?"

Shepard considered. "We're all right. Handling this merc situation. Hannah's good." She paused, frowning. "Wish we'd have been able to have more time with just her, though. Is that awful to admit?"

Garrus clapped Shepard on the shoulder. "Of course not."

"That's nice of you to say."

"Yeah. Too bad I'm all talk."

Shepard grinned. "What do you say you help us handle this merc thing so we can get back to our blissful post Reaper lives?"

"I'd say that sounds like a plan, Captain," Garrus grinned, shouldering his rifle in a decidedly pleased manner. "Besides. I hear you two got a wedding to plan."

Kaidan chuckled when she hid her face in her palm. "God. Figures you'd have heard by now."

"You know the comm buoys aren't out of commission anymore. There are no secrets in this incredibly nosy galaxy."

"You said it. It was probably naïve to think we'd be able to keep it under wraps, huh?" Shepard groused. "Here I had some nice picture of a private ceremony, in some nice secluded place, with friends only. Not a media circus."

"Well, hey now," Kaidan cut in. "What if I want a media circus?"

She fixed him with a skeptical look, brow raised. "Do you? Really?"

"I might!"

She let out a long-suffering sigh. "If that's what you really wanted, I guess I'd have to make it happen for you."

"I don't really. But it's nice that you feel that way," Kaidan grinned.

"Yeah, yeah."

Garrus flashed what Shepard assumed to be the turian equivalent to a grin. "It's good to see you two. It's probably strange, but I started missing the Normandy."

"After being trapped on it for nine months?" Shepard asked him, agog. "Are you crazy?"

"Pretty sure you know the answer to that question already, Shepard," Garrus replied. "You have to be a little crazy to be in this business."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Shepard agreed. She'd been about to elaborate when Tali slipped back into the room, and Shepard noticed her stance was stiff, uncomfortable. She relaxed only slightly when she saw Garrus.

"The Admirals have declined to meet with you," Tali said unwillingly.

"What? Why?"

Tali shifted uncomfortably. "They've instructed me to inform you that they are too busy to answer to Spectres. I don't have any problems telling you that they're expecting to be rebuked for rebuilding the geth without clearing it with the Council first."

"Well, yeah, that is a concern," Kaidan said. "Didn't they want us to handle the merc problem?"

Tali sighed. "No. I . . . I asked you to come here myself. They're not involved."

"Is that even allowed?" Shepard demanded roughly.

"It's about the same as contracting private services. Not against the law, but not looked on kindly either."

"I see."

"I know I should have said something when I called. I was . . . I was afraid you'd say no. I don't know. I'm sorry, Shepard."

Shepard knew she should probably be angry at Tali's deception. And if she was being honest, she was a little annoyed; in fact, annoyed was probably a slight understatement. They'd diverted to help, with their very young infant child in tow, and the least Tali could have done was be honest. But looking into her friend's face – glowing eyes downcast with shame – she felt a wave of tenderness. "It's all right," Shepard said, holding Tali's shoulder. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Yeah. This merc thing was our assignment and we're going to handle it, regardless of what the quarians are doing," Shepard said. "Can we count on your help?"

She saw the outline of Tali's lips curve upward through her mask. "Absolutely."

Shepard gestured to Kaidan and the two of them made to leave, but before they did she turned back once again. "Why did you bring us here? We could have arranged a strike without diverting planetside."

Tali gestured around the room, to the geth servers and technicians tinkering away. "I wanted you to see what we were doing. I wanted you to see that it was the right thing."

"The Admirals were okay with that?"

"The Admirals wouldn't be able to keep you off Rannoch even if they wanted to," Tali explained. "The public wouldn't stand for it."

"Really?!"

"Well, yes!" Tali explained, animated again. "Everyone knows who you are and what you did. You're the reason we achieved peace with the geth, and then you destroyed the Reapers. Honestly, I think they'd have a riot on their hands if they tried to keep you away."

She and Kaidan exchanged a glance. "Interesting."

They followed Tali through the facility, and this time Shepard took a closer look at the geth repairs as they passed. The technicians were diligent and exacting, but as they passed a server room she saw one lean down over a deactivated geth platform and run a gentle hand over its ocular apparatus, as one might brush their fingers over a child's brow.

And she realized; the quarians weren't rebuilding the geth for solely their own benefit, or out of a misplaced sense of guilt. It was more complicated than that. It ran deeper.

The sun had nearly set when they stepped outside, a line of faint, deep red spreading over the horizon like paint on a canvas. Shepard enjoyed the cool air for a moment before turning to Tali. "Rendezvous on the Normandy in at 0500 hours, all right? We'll hash out a plan from there."

"Right, Shepard," Tali said, Garrus nodding behind her. "We'll see you then."

She and Kaidan set out toward the docking bay, both absorbed in thoughtful silence for nearly the entire trek. They'd almost reached the ship when Shepard finally spoke, frowning a little. "Wonder why they didn't tackle the mercs on their own," she mused.

Kaidan knew, of course. "Divide and conquer."

* * *

The first thing Kaidan did when they boarded the Normandy and returned to their quarters was take Hannah into his arms, and that's where his daughter stayed for most of the evening. Shepard, for her part, collapsed on the bed with her arm over her eyes, wincing through another headache. He noticed her hands were trembling.

"The tremor's back," he commented absently, stroking Hannah's brow, her little nose.

"I can't do anything about it," she said. Her voice was muffled by her arm.

"I thought it was getting better."

"It was."

He sighed. "I know this is essentially a useless thing to say, but I wish you wouldn't stress so much."

"It's an objectively stressful situation. I'm doing pretty well, considering."

He thought back to the way she'd been during the Reaper war; the deadness in her eyes, the way she had seemed to slowly collapse in on herself, pulled inward by grief and horror and responsibility beyond anything one person should have to bear. "Relatively," he said finally.

He thought for a moment that she'd snap, but instead she let out a slow breath. "Relatively," she agreed. "I don't know."

"Shepard," he chided softly. "Talk to me."

"Come here first."

Hey obeyed, standing carefully so as not to jostle Hannah before taking a seat beside her on the bed. She folded up around him instantly, one hand curling around his arm and the other brushing the downy hair off Hannah's forehead. He felt her sigh, and it struck him that this was probably the first time she'd relaxed in days.

"I wonder if we should find someplace safe for Hannah," she mused, leaning low over their child. "I just think that there is so much that could go wrong, and if something were to happen to us, I wouldn't want it to happen to her too."

Kaidan didn't say anything for a long moment. He knew the exact same fear, possibly better than Shepard did. She'd died on the SR1, but he'd had to live with the tormented memory of her twisting in the vacuum of space, choking on the void. It wasn't something you forgot, not even after Shepard had come back. "I know what you mean," he said finally.

"So we'd find someplace for her until we're finished with this, right?" She twisted a lock of Hannah's dark hair around her finger. "But then I start thinking . . . well, when is this going to be over for us?"

"When we figure out what's going on with the mercs and stop it."

"But what about after that?" She looked up at him, and her blue eyes were clouded over with worry. "There's never going to be an end. There's never going to be a galaxy that doesn't need its human Spectres charging in, ready to save the day. You know?" She was quiet for a moment. "We're in this for life."

She was right. He'd known it on some unconscious level, too, but had never fully acknowledged it. He chewed on his lip, attempting to parse his thoughts toward a solution. "Want to run away?" he asked her, half in jest. Anything to get her to smile.

"Good one."

"What if I meant it? Just the three of us; you, me, and Hannah in some secluded corner of the galaxy. A house on the beach. No comms. No neighbors or visitors or press dying to take a picture for some story. Just us in a getaway place."

Her lips curved sadly. "You don't mean it. You wouldn't be Kaidan if you meant it. Maybe you'll fantasize about our little getaway place, but the moment you'd start considering it seriously, you'd think about all the people that need us to be Spectres and to take care of shit, and you wouldn't be able to let them down." She paused. "I wouldn't be able to let them down either."

He sighed. "I know. I thought the idea would cheer you up."

"No, but . . . you cheer me up." This time she smiled for real. "You're my getaway place."

It was a beautiful thought and he loved it immediately. He leaned over and pressed a kiss in her hair. "You're so corny."

"You're the one who said it first!"

"Hmm." He traced kisses along the crooked angle of her nose, the fading scars there, smiling a little when he felt her laugh. "What?"

"Nothing. Just, you know we're getting married?"

"Of course."

"Don't hate me but . . . I don't know. All the stuff that's going on, I forget about it. I'll remember a few hours later and it'll just knock the breath out of me."

"You forget?!" He pretended to be outraged, though in reality he couldn't blame her at all. "You wound me deeply, woman."

"Oh, shut up. I'm serious. And then it just hits me . . . god, we have to plan this. We have to invite all the press and invite important people and I have to wear a dress and there's dancing –"

"You've worn dresses before," he pointed out. "In Chicago? Don't pretend you hate it."

She scowled. "That was a nice dress. Not some poofy abomination."

"You don't have to wear a poofy abomination if you don't want."

"Are you sure? I think I have to go with what the media wants. You remember what Hackett said."

"He didn't say you had to do what the media wanted. He just said we shouldn't shut people out, since it would be nice for them to see the big war heroes married with a baby."

She gestured dismissively. "Details."

"Right," he chuckled.

"So . . . when do you want to do this?" she asked him slowly. "I think we should try and set a date."

"Should we?" he teased. "I could keep you in this nebulous half-way state forever, instead. We could live our lives in sin."

She snorted. "It's only living in sin if you believe that stuff."

"My mom did," he grinned. "She would not be happy with this arrangement."

"You think she'd hold out against Hannah? I mean, if there was ever evidence of some pre-marital romping, I'd say a child takes the cake."

He looked down at his daughter fondly, touching her cheek. "She wouldn't be able to hold out against that face. Dad either. They always wanted to be grandparents."

Shepard was quiet for a moment. "Your notice get any hits?" she asked finally.

"There was a small lead," Kaidan said, frowning. "A lot of people from Vancouver went southeast after the Reapers hit. There were rumors of a resistance forming in the old States, and so a lot of refugees went that way. Safety in numbers and all."

"Any of them fit your parents' description?"

"I don't know yet." Kaidan let out a long breath. "I'm looking, though."

Shepard squeezed his thigh. "We'll find them."

He wasn't convinced, but he smiled for her sake. "Yeah."

"I can't wait to see their faces when we introduce Hannah," Shepard said, leaning into him once again. "Christ. Come to think of it, I can't wait to see their faces when you introduce me."

"They know about you," Kaidan said.

"How much?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Enough."

"You bragged, didn't you."

"I didn't brag," he argued. "I . . . enthused."

"You are adorable."

"Nah." Kaidan measured his memories for a moment. "Mom thought I was crazy after you came back. She wasn't a very loud-spoken woman, but she yelled at me when I wouldn't forgive you after . . . after Horizon. She said I was being foolish and squandering a second chance that no one has ever gotten before."

Shepard grinned. "I like her already."

"Yeah, I think you two would have gotten along."

"We _will _get along," Shepard corrected.

"Right." He sighed. "Dad was . . . I don't know what he thought about it. He kind of kept his cards close to his vest."

"Sounds familiar."

"He's much worse than me."

"I'm sure."

He scowled down at her. "Your faith in me is a constant source of inspiration."

"Oh, don't be a baby. Tell me more about them."

"Let's see," he trailed off, thinking. "Dad was the one who taught me how to shoot a gun. He never said as much, but he wanted me to be an Alliance soldier. He never counted on . . . on the biotics. Didn't really know what to do with them, honestly. I think they scared the shit out of him; he didn't trust anything he could put his hands on."

"You joined the Alliance, though," she pointed out softly.

"Yeah. Maybe he was proud in the end."

She squeezed his arm. "I'm sure of it. Who wouldn't be proud of you? Major Kaidan Alenko, second human Spectre, biotic badass and the finest father the galaxy has ever seen."

He ducked his head, embarrassed. "You're exaggerating."

"Me?! Exaggerate? Never."

"Uh huh."

She glared up at him. "What's the use of paying you a compliment if you never believe me?"

"I thought you liked flustering me."

"That is true" she conceded grudgingly. "Ugh; we always do this. Spin off on random tangents, and I can never find the point I was trying to make. Weren't we going to try and figure out a date for the wedding?"

"Yeah, sorry," he said, biting his lip against a grin. "Do you want to wait, or do you want to get things moving?"

"I'm not sure. It's already been a pretty long engagement."

"Three years is more than 'pretty long'," he argued, smirking.

"Fine. A _very _long engagement."

"That's better."

She looked up at him, grinning a little. "I get the feeling you want to get things moving. I'm not sure how, since we have to deal with this merc thing."

"You could always hire a planner to do it for you," he suggested. "Do we know anyone who would like planning a wedding?"

He saw flash of inspiration cross her features, and she rubbed her eyes. "God," she muttered.

"Well?"

She sighed. "If I didn't let Miranda plan this thing, I don't think she'd ever forgive me."

"She'd want to?"

"Well, she'd be all over the logistical part of it, for sure. She eats spreadsheets and lists and matrices for breakfast. You have to be kind of anal retentive to oversee a resurrection project for a terrorist cell. And . . . well, she'd never admit it to anyone, but she'd like the emotional part too. Especially because it's me. And I was stressing trying to figure out how to involve her. Didn't think she'd like to be an attendant – that's not really her style. Planning things is, though."

"I'll leave you to ask."

"Sure. And when I give her a date, I'll say . . . ?"

Kaidan considered for a moment. He knew that Shepard would prefer to get this over with sooner than later – and by 'this' she was thinking of the media circus. Their wedding being hijacked by the galactic media was a source of stress for her, and he wanted to minimize that. And if he was being honest, he wanted her to be his wife sooner than later. He'd waited more than three years. He didn't want to wait anymore.

"Two months from now," he told her.

And Shepard nodded, her slim fingers tightening over his arm in assent. "Two months."

* * *

Jack leaned against the bar and signaled for a drink, smirking a bit when the turian bartender trundled off to obey. James leaned next to her and eyes roved over the dark corners in the room, watching for anything out of the ordinary. The flashing lights and music of the club thudded in time with her heartbeat, a thrilling combination. It was in these places that she felt truly alive.

"You going to get something to drink?" she called up to him.

He shook his head. "We're supposed to be working."

"Exactly. A drink'll take the edge off."

He waved her away. "I don't want that shit messing with me."

"You're boring," she said offhandedly, but before she turned away she saw him flinch at her words. It wasn't true, and she didn't really know why she'd said it. Nothing for it now, though.

They had decided the best course of action would be to stake out in the various bars and clubs of Omega, keeping an eye out for any merc activity; sanctioned or not. It was quickly apparently that the shadow organization held no love for the other merc bands and made trouble for them whenever they could get away with it. Which was surprisingly often. Jack had figured the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Blood Pack would have gotten their shit together now that they were under Aria's thumb, but the shadow cell fucked with them with ease.

The turian slid the drink over the bar and she caught it deftly, taking a slow sip. It tasted like shit, but she had decided not to be picky. For once, she was in a good mood.

The situation with James couldn't have gone better if she had planned it. She hadn't, of course; a reoccurring casual arrangement was not something she would have landed on organically. She preferred to use a man and cut him loose before he could get any ideas. But it had become clear that James wouldn't get any ideas, and that he seemed to want a casual thing as well. So she figured, why the hell not?

It was strange to be this carefree. Shepard would have frowned and called it reckless, arms crossed over her chest. But for once, Jack didn't care; she was flying close to the sun and smirking the whole time.

After all, why shouldn't she be reckless? She and James had hammered out an arrangement like adults, one that worked for each of them. It had become clear that resisting him wasn't getting her anywhere, and a different solution was required. So why not?

Now when she looked at him, she felt a notable absence of the self-loathing that had plagued her since he came into her life. She allowed herself to desire him, because there was no danger of attachment or other feelings of that nature. Two people using each other as they needed. It was perfect.

It allowed her to focus on her task, and when Jack applied her focus to something, she got results. The rest of the mercs hated the shadow cell. It was probably a fair assumption to guess that hatred went both ways. So if they wanted to ingratiate themselves with the shadow cell, it was probably a good idea to make some trouble for the others.

"Hey," she said to James, nudging him with her elbow. A little jolt traveled through her skin from the contact, and her stomach leapt when he looked down at her. "I have an idea."

He frowned. "Am I going to like this idea?"

"Probably not."

He sighed, but she saw a ghost of a grin curve in those sensuous lips. "Let's hear it."

She leaned closer, so that their faces were only inches apart. "I was thinking it might look good to our shadowy friends if we make some trouble for the other bands."

"And by make trouble, you mean what, exactly?"

"Could be anything, really," she shrugged. "Fuck with shipments. Take out key members." She grinned. "Start a fight."

"I don't know . . ." James trailed off, brows furrowing.

"Look. We could spend a few months here sucking up to the shadow mercs, or we can get things rolling with a few flashy displays. These guys are probably desperate, and they'll be thinking that the enemy of their enemy is a potential friend."

He looked down at her, and she ignored the way his gaze sent a little thrill running through her. "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Nope."

"_Carajo. _Fine. Start a fight."

She tossed back the rest of her drink, smirking a little. "Here I thought you liked bar fights."

"I did," he said unwillingly.

"What changed?"

He didn't say anything at first, and though it was hard to see his face in the low light of the club, she watched something pass over his features, something that was difficult to give shape but somehow easily understood regardless. It sent another shiver running through her, but this one was not pleasurable; it felt close to fear. For one wild second, she wondered if he was lying to her about their casual arrangement before shaking the thought away. That was nonsense; an untamed, baseless fear.

"Maybe stay out of the way," she said casually, digging around her inside coat pocket for a cigarette. "Wouldn't want you to bust up that pretty face."

"Didn't know you cared."

"I don't," she said, smirking. "But you do."

"Ha ha. Right." But he grinned a little and leaned closer to offer her a light. She took a drag, watching the way the flame's light played off the latticed scars of his knuckles. One of these days she'd get around to asking how he got them.

She saw a swaggering group of Blue Suns enter the club, bold as pyjak pups. They took their customary places at the bar and harassed the turian bartender until he passed them a handful of drinks for no charge. Smug bastards, Jack thought. She would have taken any of the three merc groups, but she held a special, bitter place in her heart for the Blue Suns, for all they did to her on _Purgatory. _Yeah, she would enjoy ripping them apart.

"Haven't seen you around, pussy cat," one of the Blue Suns mercs said, and he bared a rotted set of teeth at her.

Oh, this was too easy. She should've known they'd step to her first; pretty woman at their bar, enjoying a drink. Of course they'd try and assert themselves as real badasses, obviously expecting her to either wither with fear or pleasure at the disgusting compliment.

"Careful," she warned, and she flashed him an answering grin. She felt James stir beside her, his jaw clicking with what she assumed to be rage.

"Or what. Your guard dog gonna rip my arms out and beat me with 'em?"

"No," Jack said, and she took a disinterested drag on her cigarette before blowing a cloud of smoke in his face. "But I will."

The merc's face crumpled in rage. Behind him, his buddies glared murderously at her, hands drifting down to their weapons. "You bitch," the merc snarled. "You think you can disrespect me and walk on out?"

"That's exactly what I think," Jack taunted. "You think you're man enough to do something about it?"

The merc's hand clamped around her upper arm hard enough to bruise, and he hauled her so close that their faces were only inches apart. His rancid breath warmed her cheek. "Ain't very smart, are ya?"

"Smarter than you."

The merc's response was to smack her across the face.

She'd been about to crush him with a warp when the merc suddenly went sailing across the room, crashing spectacularly into a table laden with drinks. It took her a half a second to realize that James had been the one to launch him. He was positively shuddering with rage, the lines of his face etched deep and furious. Jack was no coward, but the foreign expression on his face terrified her.

"Don't touch her!" he snarled. "_¡__Maldito hijo de puta!"_

She was too stunned at the strength of his reaction to be angry that he'd leapt to her rescue, as if she couldn't handle herself, as if she was some kind of helpless waif. When he launched into the rest of the mercs, fists swinging and mad enough to spit glass, she struggled to keep pace.

When she got a temper going, she could be pretty fucking scary. She'd light the biotics in her flesh and burn like the heart of a star. She'd rip apart the fuckers who dared hurt her and dance on their corpses without an ounce of regret. She wasn't weak or afraid. But she'd never seen a fury like James'. It was like someone had lifted a barrier and let him loose, and boy did he wreak a lot of havoc when he did. He smashed one merc's helmet visor and didn't even pause when the shards of plexiglass embedded in his fist before hurtling into another one and tackling him to the ground.

She shook out of her stupor when the guns came out. The merc with the rotted teeth leveled a shotgun in James' face, and that's when she sent him sailing through the club with a shockwave, where he smashed so hard into the wall that she heard something crunch over the thudding of the music.

It was pure and total chaos, and she was too stunned to even enjoy it properly. When a merc came at her with a talon, she smashed him with a warp without paying attention, too preoccupied with James and his one-on-five scrap with the mercs. One smashed the butt of his rifle in James' face but before he could fire, James ripped the gun out of his hands and retaliated in kind.

Well, she'd always wanted to see James really scraping in a bar fight. It was some kind of fucking dream come true.

It took her too long to notice there were more mercs than when they started, leveling their rifles in James' direction. Of course, she thought bitterly; they'd come out of the fucking woodwork like rats. She wasn't fast enough to bowl them over before they fired, but she threw up a barrier just in the nick of time, watching the shots ripple against the field.

She hauled James off the ground, angry fingers biting into the hard muscle of his arm. "Get the fuck out of here!" she shouted at him over the din.

He stared her down, livid. "And leave you here?!"

She would have smacked him in the face if they hadn't been surrounded by a dozen angry mercs. Snarling in frustration, she hurled a singularity toward the bulk of them and watched as they were caught in its pull. Before they could recover, she smashed a warp right into the center of it, and the resulting detonation shook the very foundation of Omega.

She and James hurried out of club and into a shadowed alleyway before the mercs could recover, weaving through the darkness toward their shitbox of an apartment without speaking. She was still too angry to work her thoughts into words, and she was half afraid that if she tried to speak or even look at him, she'd smash her fist into his bloody face. Either that, or she'd kiss him.

She shoved him into the apartment before closing the door, whirling to face him. "You want to explain what the _fuck _that was about?"

"You wanted a bar fight," he said, wiping a bit of blood off his face. "You got one."

"That's not-! Fuck, James," she spat. "I didn't need you to rush in on my behalf, like I can't take care of myself or something."

"I didn't exactly plan it that way," James said, and his tone was weary. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

"I'm not offended. I'm pissed," she snapped. "I didn't need your help. I didn't need you to – to be my champion or some dumb shit."

"I wasn't trying to be," he said, and his brows furrowed over his bruised eyes. "I know how you – how get about this. I didn't think. He hit you and . . . I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to – to upset you."

She'd known on some vague level that his reaction had been on her behalf, and she'd chosen to ignore it in the moment because it wasn't relevant to survival. But now that they were safe in their shitbox apartment, there were no other threats to contend with; she had to look this one down the barrel and face it.

It was the way he was looking at her – contrite and upset, as if he knew he'd fucked up, as if he would have done anything to take it back and make it up to her. He was big and dumb and surprisingly tender, looking down at her through the blood and bruises. She wanted to be angry, but she couldn't. She wanted to be angry that she couldn't, and couldn't even manage that either.

Instead of screaming at him, she sighed. "You're a fucking idiot," she said, though it sounded less like a barb and more like a grudging term of endearment. "Sit down. Don't think you'll be able to pick all that glass out of your hands by yourself."

And he obeyed. She scooted her chair close to his and took his large hand in her own, carefully picking the shards of glass out and trying to ignore that it was nice, whatever it was.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Huge special thanks to Ghrelt, LilaWolken, Helmsbroad, Anon1, artfuleye66, ebidebi, StaticBomb324, AMONster, CreatedInFyre7, Dandy in the Aspic, ZOMG its Angie, JemmaP, Vanessa, Cortina2, Lord of Bays, Anon2, greeneyedkirk, gracie21, CuHnadian, mmwaveprincess, Anon3, Anon4, Ellwyndara, jay8008, CyanB, and Gyfted for your amazing reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed.**

**I'm SO SORRY for the huge hiatus, guys. For those of you not following my tumblr, I've been in the process of moving to a new state, but as of last week I am all moved and settled, so regular updates resume! Hooray!  
**

**This chapter is all Jack and James. We'll catch up with Shepard and the rest next time! :)  
**

**I love hearing back from you guys, so feel free to drop me a review. Thanks so much for reading everyone!  
**

"Stop fidgeting," Jack said through clenched teeth. "You're making it worse."

"_Mira, __estás complicando todo!" _James hissed, yanking his hand away. "¡_Puñeta_!"

"I don't understand what you're saying," Jack said in a low tone as she snatched his hand back, perhaps a little more roughly than necessary. "Try again, in English."

"I said you're making it worse," James muttered.

Jack didn't bother to bite down on the smirk. "What's the matter? Big strong man can't handle a little pain?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Take a good look. Does it look like I can't?"

"Looks like you're squirming like a child from a scratch, at best."

He waved his torn, bloody knuckles in her face. "¡_Mira! _These are not scratches! I can't even feel my left hand!"

The grin slid off her face. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

"I didn't think it was that big of a deal," he muttered.

"There's a surprise. When do you ever think?" She plucked out a particularly large shard of glass and flicked it on the table, scowling up at him.

"I'm not going to apologize again," he fired back. "Those _pendejos _had it coming."

Jack wasn't going to argue with that. She didn't hold much love for the major merc organizations of the Terminus, but she held a special bit of hatred in her heart for the Blue Suns. "Yeah. Why is that?"

He shifted under her ministrations, obviously uncomfortable. "They're scum. Pretty simple."

"Yeah . . . you know, I don't think it is," she disagreed, calmly picking out another shard. "I mean, I got my own reasons for wanting to smear those assholes on the nearest bulkhead. I think I want to know what yours are."

"You sure?" he fired back.

Well, now that he asked, suddenly she wasn't. It was that creeping suspicion that maybe he was lying about their arrangement, their casual agreement. I take mine, you take yours; happy. She'd repeated it so many times in her mind that the words had almost lost meaning. "Forget about it," she muttered.

"Right."

She peered up at him, eager for anything that would pull them away from this dangerous topic. "They really fucked up your nose," she commented. "Does it hurt?"

He touched it gingerly and tried his best not to wince. "Not so much."

"Liar." Without warning, she reached up and pressed it back into place with one sure motion. His pain seemed to go beyond expression for a few seconds, and it reminded Jack paradoxically of the way Hannah would forget to breathe right before letting loose a wail that would take the head off a krogan.

James didn't disappoint. "ipu-ÑETA! iCABRONA, MAL PARIDA, HIJA 'E LA GRANPUTA, CANTO 'E SUCIA, COÑO AVÍSAME LA PRÓXIMA VEZ CARAJO!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he demanded, muffled by his hands.

"Nothing! You, on the other hand, had a broken nose." She shrugged. "I'm helping."

He snorted, still irked. "Why am I not surprised your style of helping involves lots of pain?"

"I'm making an effort, here," she grumbled.

"I can think of another word for it."

She ignored this. "Are you dizzy? Nauseous?"

"Not really."

That was good, then. She'd fixed enough broken noses to know the risk of field repair. "Let me get some medi-gel on that."

He watched her as she applied the medi-gel more carefully that she would have with anyone else, and his expression unnerved her slightly. Maybe it was the speculative cast of his features, or the softness in his eyes. "You do this a lot?" he wondered.

"You forget I used to work with some jackhole mercs and thieves before I got caught," she said, aiming for ease. "When you're playing outside the law, you need to keep out of the clinics. You need to know how to fix what you can by yourself."

"Makes sense," he said, somewhat muffled.

"I guess."

"Hey," he said after she finished applying the medi-gel and washing the blood away. "Thanks."

"Don't get excited," she fired back, unnerved by his expression. "Just figured you wouldn't be able to pick all those shards out of your own hands. Or you'd make it worse. Or make a mess. You know."

She was talking too much, filling the cloying quiet with her excuses. Suddenly the sound of her own voice was grating, and she snapped her mouth shut, lips pressed tight.

He let out a half-laugh. "Yeah, I know. I've done it enough times on my own."

"That where you got those scars?"

"Some of them." He grinned. "Want to trade stories?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

He shrugged. "You're curious, I'm curious. Like for like."

Jack was really starting to hate his casual logic, and how he aligned everything in a manner that made her feel like an overreacting shrew when she argued. "Fine. Like for like. I'll go first."

He leaned back with an easy smile on his face and gestured to himself. "Take your pick."

His ease with the prospect of sharing his secrets irritated her, and as with all things, she took it as a challenge. She wouldn't deny, though, that she liked having an excuse to study him closely, without fear of being caught and thought interested for looking ( a disgusting prospect if she ever knew one).

James was a man built for the harder things in life; tough and bulky with muscle, but there was surprising softness to him; lips that were more curve and less angle, and the way that his eyes could become so gentle that it hurt to look at. She found these extremes fascinating. She feared she always would.

"Having trouble?" he asked her, grinning.

It was astounding how quickly he could ruin any vestige of goodwill she felt towards him by opening his mouth. She resisted the urge to break his nose again, and pointed to the long scar that cut through the bottom of his lip. "This one," she said.

She only caught it because she was watching; the good humor faded from his eyes, and for a moment he looked strange, as if the light had gone out of him. But it was back in the next moment, though it seemed forced to Jack. "I got that from my dad," he said simply.

She couldn't think of anything to say; not even her typical deflections or brush-offs. "What?" she breathed.

James shrugged, and though she had no way of knowing for sure, she thought that he tried to keep the story bland and distant. "I was twelve. I had stayed out too late one night, and when I came back he was pissed. Drunk, too. He shoved me and I smashed my face in the stove. I don't know if he meant to do that, but he sobered up pretty quick when he saw what he'd done."

Jack stared, horrified. Suddenly that scar had become horrible in her eyes – evidence of abuse rather than victory in battle, as she had initially assumed. It was survival, but of a different kind, one she was more familiar with. And while she tried to make a secret of how she felt about James, the thought of him suffering in a similar manner was repulsive.

Even worse – she'd never had parents, and in her horrific childhood her parents had become more saintlike than human, incapable of anything aside from boundless love and protection. People were shit, but they weren't to their kids. They weren't supposed to be, anyway. At least the assholes who beat her up and filled her veins with drugs were horrible strangers.

"Took me to the hospital, swerving pretty bad," James was saying. "We almost got in a wreck, I think. Took twenty stitches and a shit ton of medi-gel to patch me up." He rubbed his thumb along the ridge of the scar absently. "Tío came around a lot more, after he saw what'd happened."

"Who?" she echoed.

"Ah – my uncle." He let out a long breath. "There you have it."

She was dimly aware of her hand clenched into a shaking fist on her leg, vibrating with the rage she longed to level at someone or something. If James' father was still alive, she'd make him wear a hat out of his own intestines. "I'm sorry," she said through clenched teeth.

He caught her gaze. "You're mad."

"No."

"You're practically having a seizure over there."

"I am not."

"Look, Jack," he said, leaning forward a bit. "It's done. I could sit around and be mad about it, I guess, but that would be a waste, considering it happened a long time ago. Yeah, it sucked. My dad was not a great guy, and he did a lot of shitty things. But the way I see it, I'm living a good life; I got a good job and good people. Just have to try and remember I have good things to live for, instead of anger. You know?"

"It's just that easy, huh?" she asked him bitterly.

"Sometimes," he said. Something crossed his expression, like a cloud veiling the sun.

She couldn't escape the vague sensation that he was leveling some kind of criticism over the way she'd lived her life. Never mind that he didn't know the half of it, by her design. He was entirely too eager for her past and the hard things that had made her as she was, and she hadn't decided if she was going to indulge him with it all.

"If you say so," she said.

"My turn," he said, and the shit-eating grin was back. He leaned closer, considering her the way one considers an especially interesting book, uncovering line after line to illuminate the whole. She fidgeted under his scrutiny. It was impossible to meet his gaze.

"You blind or something? Pick one."

"You have a lot of tattoos," he said by way of explanation. "Hard to see what's under them."

It was almost like he realized that was the entire point of her tattoos. "You're the one who wanted to do this," she bit out.

"I didn't say I didn't anymore. Christ, Jack." He peered up at her. "What's the problem?"

"There's no problem."

"Right." He pointed to the inside of her forearm, where dozens of cross-hatched scars were just barely visible under the tattoos. "Tell me about those."

It figured he'd choose the most personal scars she had on her body. She was suspicious. It was almost like he could read her thoughts on her skin, and this whole thing was an exercise in futility. For half a second, she considered lying, but she was tired of feeling like a coward when it came to James and the truth. "I did those," she said almost tauntingly, daring him to react.

He did not, at least not in a way that suggested he was judging her for being strange or scary, the way most quailed from an individual who possessed enough hatred to mark their own bodies with it. "They look pretty old," he noted. "Faded, I mean."

She wasn't really sure why, but she decided to elaborate. His lack of judgment encouraged her, or maybe the odd feeling in her gut was a reaction to the challenge he posed. He'd talked about his shit; why couldn't she?

"They used to call me Zero on Teltin, right? Subject Zero." She laughed ruefully. "I didn't have a name, or if I did before, I couldn't remember it. And I guess that fucks you up, to be a nothing. I'd go out of my mind thinking I'd fade away or some stupid shit like that. So I'd open up and paint the bare places with blood, since I didn't have any paper or ink or anything to use in the normal way." She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "When I broke out, I got the tattoos to paint for real."

It sounded weak when she said it aloud, but for some strange reason she was not sorry she'd told him. The feeling solidified when she caught a glimpse of his expression – carefully neutral, struggling not to betray anything. "You design these, then?" he asked, indicating the barred circles on her arms.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Turns out I'm all right at it."

"More than all right." He cleared his throat, and she got the feeling he was upset he'd said anything. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask whatever you want. No promises on if I answer."

He grinned; he seemed to have expected this. "Is there anywhere you don't have a tattoo?"

"I'm surprised you don't know this already," she told him, fishing a cigarette out of her pocket and offering one to him. "You've seen me naked."

Her words had the intended effect – she saw his face redden, and he looked away. "Never really got the chance to inspect, you know."

"Right, right," she smirked. "Yeah, I've got one place. Can you guess?"

He took the opportunity to inspect now, but she was covered head to toe in her now customary longcoat. After a moment, he let out a sigh of defeat. "Nope."

"Not even a guess? Too bad." She took a drag and let it out slowly. "My ankles."

"Bullshit."

She wrenched off one of her boots and pushed the sock down, so that he had a full, unobstructed view of her ankle, bare as the day she'd been born. "What's so unbelievable about that?" she demanded.

"Ankles are kind of tame. I just thought you'd have some place a little more . . . flashy, I guess."

"Not for what I have in mind."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saving my ankles for something real meaningful. I haven't decided what that is, exactly. I'll know it when I find it." She tapped the cigarette, watching the ash drift down on the table.

"Why ankles?"

She considered feeding him a lousy lie, for half a minute. With everything she'd told him today, they weren't things she casually mentioned. They were facets best kept buried deep, as far away from prying eyes as possible. But she'd come this far with him, and she was no coward. She didn't want to be, anyway.

"Your ankles and feet are like the trunk of a tree, you know? The support. Everything I've put on my body so far has been because of something shitty, something I survived. But . . . I just figure if I'm going to be putting something there, it needs to be good." She trailed off, staring at her naked skin. "I don't want it all to be shit."

"I think you'll find something," James told her. He looked so tender at that moment, and she saw him struggling to keep himself under control; from what, she had a vague, uncomfortable suspicion. They'd unconsciously been leaning toward one another, until they were only inches away, and it was stunning that this was all right. This give and take, this transmission of hurts and experiences was not like drawing blood but more like breathing, more natural than she ever would have believed.

Abruptly, she pulled away. "Yeah, eventually," she said dismissively, as if what she shared wasn't significant at all, but rather a fleeting afterthought. "It's nothing."

He got the hint and leaned away as well. "If you say so," he echoed.

She glanced up at him; his nose was straight, but magnificently black and blue, his eyes glittering in the low light of the apartment. "That's a good look for you," she said, smirking again.

"Think so?"

"Yeah. Like a brawler. We should check things out in a few hours; mercs'll know not to fuck with you."

He touched his nose gingerly. "Right."

If she was going to distract him from this serious conversation, talking wasn't going to work. It wasn't manipulative, not really – she wouldn't have thought about doing it if she didn't want to. It's just that fucking him would have the added benefit of distracting him long enough for him to stop looking at her in that way – like he wanted to see more of these bare places. She'd had enough of that for a few hundred years.

"You all right?" she asked him. "Not . . . nauseous or dizzy or anything?"

He was confused. "No, why?"

"Good." She gestured to him, all muscle and tight shirt. "Take off your clothes."

One thing she was learning to appreciate about James was that it didn't take him long to catch onto what she wanted. He obeyed as if it had been his idea all along. Maybe it had been, and she was the one cottoning onto what he wanted. Though when he slid his hands under her shirt, his fingers trailing heat, she found she didn't care so much.

* * *

Omega wasn't a big place, but it was crammed to the brim with people of all races and motivations, so it didn't take long for it to get around that the top lieutenant of the Blue Suns had gotten his ass handed to him by a couple of freelance nobodies. Because of that, it was impossible for Jack and James to go anywhere in Omega without being recognized.

James knew that had been the whole point of making a scene- to get the attention of the shadow cell, they had to get the attention of their enemies – but it still gave him a bad feeling. He picked up a cheap set of armor at the market and kept his guns in easy reach, watchful for moving shadows and the lock-click of a thermal clip. Jack handled it all with her usual disregard; this hadn't been the first time she'd been notorious in a system. James got the feeling it wouldn't be the last time either.

"I don't like this," he hissed at her.

"You don't like anything," she fired back without even bothering to look at him.

They both knew that wasn't true. "We might as well have painted goddamn targets on our backs."

"You didn't have any better ideas," she said, hitting the door latch to one of the watering holes on the lower east levels. "We're just going to have to make do."

Like it was that easy. James fumed, staring at the back of her head as she sauntered in the bar, arms swinging carelessly. It would be redundant to keep saying he had a bad feeling about this whole thing, but dammit, it was the truth.

"What are we even doing here?" he muttered as he caught up with her.

"Staking out a corner. Watching. Waiting. Either the Suns'll find us, or our friends will."

"And then?"

"Then we'll reassess." She arched a brow. "You want out, just say so."

"Not a chance."

"Then shut the fuck up."

It was the casual way she said it, as if she really didn't care at all whether he stayed or went. When they found an out of the way corner, he set his rifle on the table with an irritated thud, studiously ignoring her grin.

Based on what they'd been able to find out in the first few days they'd been here, this particular establishment didn't have much of an allegiance. Its clientele was mostly comprised of freelancers who preferred to avoid the attention of the major merc gangs; blood feuds were tiresome and a waste of resources. If there was ever a place for the shadow cell to scope out talent, it was here.

"Think you can handle a drink without whining about it?" Jack asked him, polishing the barrel of her shotgun with her longcoat sleeve.

"I thought you wanted me to shut the fuck up."

She snorted. "No one likes a smartass."

"You do."

"Sure about that?"

He wasn't really sure, sometimes. It was hard to tell anything with Jack, with her constantly shifting moods, her mercurial temper, and her skittish tendency toward deflection, like a coat of mirrors. He'd be lying if he said it didn't completely fascinate him. "Sure."

"Hm."

Though he knew he should be paying attention to their surroundings, he was distracted. Specifically, their conversation from earlier had stayed with him, long after she had pinned him to the bed and crushed her mouth to his. The ploy was easy enough to see – she was irritated with having shared so much, maybe, and life and death situations did crazy things for desire.

But he couldn't stop thinking about the bare skin of her ankle, and the nakedness in her eyes as she told him about the scars on her arms. He knew about Jack's past – it wasn't exactly common knowledge, but he'd done a lot of digging after they'd been introduced. He knew about Pragia and Teltin. He knew a little about her crimes after she broke out of that Cerberus facility that had abused her for all those years.

He couldn't get the image of Jack as a girl, hiding her cell, opening her arm and painting her naked skin with blood to ward off the fear of being nothing. He'd never done anything like hurting himself – his dad had been eager enough for that, only easing off when James surpassed him in height and strength – but he understood the anger and self-loathing that breeds in your gut. He knew similar fear, and how it colors the way you see the world.

Surreptitiously, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Same strong jaw, sensuous lips, chin jutting up in a plain challenge to anyone who would dare fuck with her, but now he felt like he understood the hooded pain present in her eyes a little more than he had yesterday.

She wasn't a damsel in distress – he knew that. Shit, she was eager enough to show him if he ever forgot. But he couldn't help feeling like shielding her from those hurts anyway.

"Heads up," she muttered to him.

"What is it?"

She nodded toward the doorway. "Blue Suns. What the fuck are they doing here?"

Her question was answered in a neat second; the mercs caught sight of the two of them in their darkened corner and cut a straight path through the bar, ignoring the bartender's bleats of anger as they shoved various patrons out of the way. James grabbed his rifle, but Jack didn't move an inch, taking a languorous drag on her cigarette.

"What the fuck do you want?" she said when they reached their table.

"You put our boss in the clinic," one of them said. "We're here to return the favor."

"In the middle of a crowded bar, huh?" Jack blew out a cloud of smoke, pursing her lips. "Not too smart, are you?"

"Nobody gives a shit about you here," another snarled.

"They don't give a shit about you, either." She stubbed out her cigarette on the table. "Try something, if you're feeling big."

Part of him loved she hurled insults at their manhood with the ease of breathing, but the rest of him hated it was so easy for her to bait a fight, like she didn't even care about the outcome. Sure, she could take care of herself. Amply well, at that. But it only took once.

It was a quick and dirty fight, and James should have seen from the beginning that it would go south. One threw a punch that Jack dodged, but they had her backed into a table, and they were both at a disadvantage. He saw Jack's head whip to the side, belatedly realizing that she'd been struck hard enough to knock her senseless. It was smart – biotics are no good when their heads are knocked loose – but it made him see red all the same.

He snarled and charged out of the booth, knocking two of them to the ground. He smashed one across the face with the butt of his rifle when he felt the business end of a gun press into his back. This was it, then. Gone out like he'd come in – quick and stupid.

The sound of gunfire echoed through the bar, but strangely he felt no pain. It wasn't until the merc who'd pressed the gun into his back slumped to the ground behind him that he realized he wasn't the one who had been shot. He expected Jack to be standing above him with her shotgun smoking, a blazing look in her eye, so when he caught sight of her slumped over the table he shot to his feet and rushed to her side.

That was when he noticed the man. His armor was scored by countless battles, and he had customary scars across his crooked nose. He looked to be mid-forties, maybe; pock-marked and grizzled as a veteran. He held a heavily modified Avenger rifle in one hand and looked down at the both of them with a mixture of irritation and respect.

"Heard you been making trouble for the Suns," he said in a leather-rough voice. "Your girl all right?"

James rolled her over to get a better look at her face. She was still conscious, though just barely, and already a heavy welt marked the left side of her face. "This girl has a name," she snapped dimly. "And I'll break your neck if you call me that again."

"She's got fire, all right," the old man chuckled. "I like that in a woman."

"Thanks for your help," James said shortly. _Pendejo._

"Keep your shirt on, son. I'm not looking for one of my own."

"Right."

Jack groaned, rubbing her head. "You got a name, asshole, or you just here to gloat?"

The man smirked, tapping the mouth of his rifle against his side. "It's Arvo." He took a seat across from them, and though James didn't exactly like this stranger, he couldn't help but to be impressed with his balls. The corpses of the Suns he'd just killed were cooling at their feet, and he didn't give a shit. "Like I said, I heard you've been making trouble for the Suns, is that right?"

"Maybe," Jack said, glaring. "Why the fuck do you want to know?"

"I've got some friends who'd be interested in meeting you," Arvo said easily. "Good friends. Paying good money for what they want."

Jack was too much of a professional to betray any reaction, but he knew she felt a leap of interest at Avro's words, just the same as he had. "And what exactly do they want?"

Arvo's grin widened, revealing a row of blackened teeth. "Change."


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Many thanks to Cmd Mercy Shepard, TinyElephant, Anon1, strawberrySJ, ebidebi, LilaWoken, R. M. Avalon, hornyzombie, Dandy in the Aspic, gracie21, ZOMG its Angie, CyanB, Cortina2, Anon2, Anon3, CuHnadian, Ellwyndara, and jay8008 for your lovely awesome reviews and to everyone else who has read, faved, and followed this story. You guys are the reason I write!**

**So once again I must apologize effusively for my long absence. A lot of real life trouble went down in the last month that took some time to sort out. I'm a little wary of making promises that things will be okay now, because every time I say that I get some other real life bomb - like in Greek mythology, where the gods take that kind of statement as a challenge to mess things up more? Ha. I've learned my lesson!  
**

**So don't kill me for ending where I have today - this whole sequence got really really long and I wanted to break it in a few parts. So hang in there- should have a new chapter up sometime soon!  
**

**Getting reviews from you guys really is wonderful and one of my all time favorite things ever, so please share your thoughts and suggestions with me, because I love hearing them! Thanks so much for reading, everyone.  
**

Kaidan had been a soldier long enough to know the look of long odds, and they were looking right at them. The mercs were not on Rannoch in force, thankfully, but preliminary scouting had revealed that they were not green in the slightest, and in fact their set up was more like a military instillation that anything Kaidan had ever seen from mercs. Made sense, if these particular mercs really were disgruntled ex-vets and survivors from the Reaper War. Shepard had a bad feeling about it, but he wasn't convinced.

In the course of their scouting, however, Shepard and Kaidan had discovered something very interesting. The mercs kept multiple squads and ships patrolling the system, but there was a window of about two hours where most of the mercs came back to base to rest or eat, and only one ship patrolled.

Kaidan had seen the idea grow every passing minute in Shepard's mind, plain as day on the topography of her face. "Shepard," he had warned, but by then, it was too late; it had taken root, and she would not entertain any other solution.

"This is the best idea, given the situation," she had argued. "We don't have the numbers or the leverage to storm the base with a squad - not against those numbers. It's a much better idea for a small team to infiltrate and disable the AA guns, giving the Normandy full clearance to bomb them to hell. I've already spoken to Tali, and she's gotten the Admirals to agree to send a few ships to help."

"This could go wrong in so many ways," Kaidan had said. "Especially considering your insistence to do this when there would be more mercs in the base. More people to catch you if you so much as take one wrong step."

"I've done something like this before," Shepard had retorted. "Well, it was similar."

"And how did that particular mission end, again? With the death of three-hundred thousand batarians and a galaxy-wide situation on your hands."

Her gaze had become quite cold. "That's not fair," she said quietly.

And she was right. He regretted the words as they left his mouth. "I'm sorry."

"Good."

In the end, his resistance to the idea hadn't mattered. Kaidan would have felt bitter about this had he really believed there was another option, but the longer Shepard spoke of her plan to infiltrate, the more he came to accept it as the only acceptable solution given the situation. There were too many mercs to take down in a squad. Too many variables otherwise.

"So we'll do it your way," he told her, crossing his arms and leaning against the bulkhead. "On one condition."

Her brows furrowed. "Yes?"

"I come with. You're not doing this alone."

* * *

Arvo was as good as a stranger, but it became quickly clear that he was not in the habit of waiting around. As soon as the vague details had left his mouth, he stood and beckoned for them to follow, not even bothering to give the corpses he left behind a backward glance. Jack had a bad feeling about the guy, but the criminal part of her respected his cold efficiency. You didn't live and fight and fuck on the Terminus all your life without getting a little rough around the edges.

Hah- a little. She half-swallowed a mad giggle at the thought. This guy hadn't dipped his toe in the local culture; he'd been marinating in it all his life, probably. It was likely he'd been born around here and joined up as soon as he was old enough to take a shit without supervision.

"You all right?" James asked her, quiet enough so Arvo couldn't hear.

She normally would have snapped at him, but for some reason at the moment she appreciated the thought. "A bit fuzzy," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose and struggling to keep her head on straight. "That asshole cracked me good."

"I saw that." James did not look happy at all, as if maybe he felt like the merc had cracked him good instead. It was doing weird things to her gut; odd loops and swoops.

"Don't worry about it," she said in what she wanted to be a dismissive tone. "Still alive, aren't I?"

James said nothing.

It was unexpected and not altogether unpleasant that he worried. Still, something about it chafed at her; in her experience, worry was less altruistic and more about fearing the loss of an asset, fearing the loss of what she offered. She turned away and concentrated on the lurching, lumbering form of Arvo, who muscled his way through the Omega crowd with the ease of a professional.

"Where we going?" Jack called, her voice swallowed and lost by the baseline din of Omega's streets.

"Got a few more recruits to test," said Arvo, smirking the words. "Gonna see how you compare. Then we send you out"

This rankled. Like they were grabby greenhorns, fresh off the streets with their first busted pistol in hand, ready to make a stand and too dumb to see a shifty situation or the thousand and one ways a walk on the street could go wrong. "Yeah, here's the thing, Arvo," she said coldly. "I'm not really in the practice of signing myself onto causes I know nothing about. I don't take life and death situations lightly. So the way I see it, you better start talking, or me and my associate here will start walking."

He turned back to the both of them with a strange combination of irritation and respect on his pocked, ruined features. "Here's what you need to know, girl. We're a group of vets, mercs, and scum looking to make a quick buck doing a good turn for this pisshole galaxy."

"Define 'good turn'," Jack demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Arvo threw a look over his shoulder before leading them out of the way of the crowd, where there were no prying ears. Despite her raging headache and the baseline irritation that made its home in her gut, she held her breath, anxious. Maybe this wasn't the shadow cell and they were wasting their time. Maybe it was, and they'd struck gold after being here less than a week.

"The Alliance, the Council, and the scum-sucking criminal masters of this galaxy all want to go back to the way things were before the Reapers; that bitch Aria included," Arvo said, lips curling over the words. Jack felt James draw closer to her, and though most of the time she was pretty fucking irritated with him, she was suddenly so glad for his presence, she wouldn't have been able to articulate it. "I figure they don't deserve that, do they?"

"What do you mean?" Jack asked him, though she'd nearly gotten the idea. This was looking better and better every moment this scummy wretch flapped his lips.

"Just what I said, dimwit. They figure they can waltz right back into their offices and dictate to us how things are going to go in the galaxy, even after they failed. After they let the Reapers come for us again and again. You think that's right?"

She could literally hear James grinding his teeth in fury, and she shot him a look heavy with meaning. Yeah, it wasn't exactly true, and it was bullshit to hear. The thought that they hadn't done enough for the galaxy while the Reapers were ripping them to shreds was bullshit. She thought of Shepard, wasting away in the war room, each death she witnessed etched on her face like a patternwork of scarring. She thought of James, hunched over a drink in Purgatory, his smile flimsy as a sodden rag.

But if he didn't pull himself together, he was going to blow their cover and it would all be over before it began. "Of course not," Jack said dismissively. "Fucking cowards, all of them." She fixed Arvo with a glare that she wanted to sear, the best smokescreen she'd come up with over the years. "I'm still not convinced your little setup will do shit, though."

"You haven't seen anything, girl," Arvo said, lips curling back into a grotesque approximation of a grin. "Shut your mouth and I'll show you."

With that, Arvo strode back into the milling crowd, and she had to half-jog to keep up with him. She rounded on James as they went, pulling him close. "Pull yourself together," she hissed, too quietly for Arvo to hear.

He shrugged out of her grasp, and at the sight of the hooded pain in his eyes, she realized agreeing with Arvo's assessment had bothered him. It had struck him like a personal attack, like she thought he'd sat around with his thumb up his ass, watching the Reapers take and take without lifting a finger. "You got it," he said dully.

Her reaction to him was a surprise. She was halfway to telling him that she didn't mean it; here, in the middle of Omega, with Arvo the asshole thunking just a few paces in front of them, in a place where her words could be so easily heard and turned into weapons against them. She swallowed them ineffectually, along with the impulse to apologize later. It wasn't her business. If he couldn't see this as one big walking lie, then he wasn't worth the time it would take to explain.

Though, she didn't really believe that. She would have, if it was another man. But not with James.

She shook those stupid, weak thoughts away as she struggled to catch up to Arvo. Old bastard was grizzled and rough as a charred piece of gristle, but he was obviously in excellent shape. She took note of it, stored the thought away for later.

Arvo led them right through the Mikaru district to the Okada; notoriously the most dangerous of them all. It might be weird for a visitor to think of Omega having places of cleanliness and safety, but one look at the Okada and you'd see it clear as day. The docks were a fucking palace compared to this; with the shining presence of Afterlife, you almost never saw piles of garbage high as your neck, and the transients were usually pretty harmless. Here in the Okada, it wasn't uncommon to see a moldering corpse in the streets, being picked at by vermin and scavengers. Here, you were as likely to sneeze as get a talon in your back, the better to relieve you of your possessions with light fingers. No one came here, no one but criminals and mercs.

The locals called Okada the Devil's Shitbox. It was appropriate.

"Not far now," Arvo called, casually blasting a creeping scavenger in the gut; he'd hardly had time to bring his pistol to bear. Something flickered in Jack's gut, and it wasn't just the nausea that accompanied that smack to the head. Intuition, probably. Maybe the mercs had discovered their true identities and brought them here to take them out. Though honestly, Arvo could have done that himself at the bar; the Blue Suns had made it pretty easy.

So Jack followed, James right at her side. She'd keep her eyes open and listen to her gut here. No time for fuck ups and mooning. No space to glance at James and study his features, make certain that he was all right. Not until they made it back to their own little shitbox, anyway. At which point, who could say if he'd survive the evening fully clothed.

Arvo led them into an abandoned warehouse, and Jack was not surprised to see the other recruits Arvo mentioned already waiting. It was the standard spread of amoral jackoffs and dredge scum. She'd run with guys like them in the days before she'd met up with Shepard, and so she could safely say she was a fucking connoisseur of underworld assholes.

There were the fortune hunters - you could tell them by how relatively unused their weapons were; they liked to duck in and out of a mark before the lights went on. There were ex-mercs - grungy, greasy, cut from the same cloth as Arvo, with that same skeptical look in their eyes, the one that mentally tabulated weaknesses and how much they could lift from a sucker. There were a handful of ex-military, even - you could tell them by the cleanliness of their armor and the strange, haunted cast to their eyes. They'd lost the most out of them all, Jack knew. Not just their jobs and livelihood, but faith in something they believed in so desperately, it had been all that was keeping them alive.

James would have looked the same way, if he'd lost faith in the Alliance. Suddenly Jack was terrified that their ruse would fail, as quickly as it had begun. She had no choice but to assume that if she could tell that much from these strangers at a glance, Arvo could as well. And James was so obviously not a disillusioned ex-military vet, not even close. It was all over him, in the way he carried himself; straight back, straight shoulders, looking down at them all like they were scum and he was right.

"Meet the lowlifes you'll be working with," Arvo said, gesturing to the spread. "They're in it for the same reasons you are, I expect, so you'll get along fine."

The same reasons - hah. "How about we skip the introductions and get to work," Jack cut in, resting the butt of her shotgun on her hip, just daring these fuckers to look at her sideways.

To her surprise, Arvo seemed to approve. "Right," he said, baring his teeth in a sad approximation of a grin. "Before you get to call yourselves one of our own, you need to prove that you know your way around a gun and you're not afraid to take down a hard target."

The hopefuls behind her shifted, some of them whispering to their fellows, just bristling for a chance to prove themselves. She wasn't exactly aware of doing so, but she drew closer to James.

"We'll split you up into groups, see how you work with strangers with the same goal, since that'll be the bulk of your experience here."

Huh. That was interesting. So who managed these unruly strangers, then?

Arvo proceeded to divide them into groups of two or three before providing them with a moderately high-profile merc target on Omega. Jack and James hung back, watching as the groups were formed. James leaned closer to her, and the feel of his breath on her ear sent a shiver running through her.

"Ballsy of them," he muttered.

"What?"

"Sending out unprovens to take down these targets."

"Oh, yeah."

"Makes you wonder what they're saving their own people for," James said quietly.

It was a sobering thought. She could use one of those, the better to quiet her ringing skull.

"Beefsteak," Arvo said, gesturing toward James. "You'll head out with Slim and Gummy. Your little girlie friend will move on along with Rich-boy." Rich-boy shot her a lascivious grin; he even had the balls to lick his lips like she was some kind of meal and he was starving.

She didn't have to be looking at James to know that his expression would be murderous and heated enough to set the little punk on fire. But instead, she laughed. "Here's the thing, Arvo," she said, twisting her voice on his name. "You know what I can do, and what my angry friend here can do. You want us to take out your little targets, we work together, or we'll move along and you'll be out a biotic. Think real hard about it now."

She knew she was playing with fire. She knew she was stepping to their unofficial little leader and potentially making the two of them targets in a shitty warehouse full of assholes who would love to take their credits and armor for their own. But she wasn't going to go into this without James at her side. Not a chance in fucking hell.

For his sake, of course. He was an idiot, and he'd get himself killed. She didn't want that.

"Have it your way, girl," Arvo said dismissively. "Makes no difference to me. Though I will say - you better hit your target without alerting the whole of fucking Omega to your plans, otherwise don't bother coming back. We'll be coming to you."

A pit of ice formed in the place where her gut once was, but she shot him a shit-eating jackal's grin, wide and mocking enough to set even the most patient person on edge. "Give us a name and we'll be on our merry way."

Arvo was old fashioned. He didn't have to flip through a datapad with the list of hits, like some of the newer commanders. Instead, he committed hit lists to memory as soon as they came down from above. "Your target is a Blue Suns Commander. Name of Tallock, one of the last batarians alive. A real shit. Gut the bastard and bring me his head as proof." Arvo leaned closer to them, sneering. "Don't take too long, either. I'll be gone from here in 36 hours, along with whatever chance you assholes have at the best money you've ever seen in your lives. Get on it."

James waited until they were out of the Okada district before he shot out and grabbed her wrist, positively vibrating with rage or nerves or something else she couldn't exactly place, something even more terrifying. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed. "I mean, you're not exactly cautious at the best of times, but this was suicidal even by your own standards."

"And you'd know, would you?"

"Yeah, at this point in our working relationship, I think I have a pretty good grasp on what's normal for you."

She pulled her hand out of his grasp, though not as roughly as she would have. "I think I have a concussion," she muttered. "That asshole cracked me good." She didn't realize she was repeating herself.

He took her by the shoulders and guided her into better light, angling for a look in her eyes. It was like she was looking at him for the first time since they'd met, like she was looking at him without that familiar fear and anger banging around her skull. If that asshole that cracked her was still alive, she might have thanked him for knocking that shit loose enough that she could see without it. He had hazel eyes, she noticed, and they were dark with concern. Something else, even; something she liked to ignore because it screwed with her plans. He tipped her head back slightly to get a better look, and she felt herself easing into him, the feel of his large hand on her shoulder, firm finger on her brow.

"It's not good," he said finally. He seemed to realize that he was still touching her, for he relinquished his hold gently, as if regretful he had to do so at all. She'd never admit it, not as long as she was alive, but she felt the same.

"Good to know," she said, rolling her head, her shoulders.

He frowned at her. "What do we do? Don't think you can handle a Blue Suns Commander in your state."

"In my state?" she snapped, the spell broken. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You wobbling around, you've got a lump on your head the size of an egg. Could you even pull off a lift if you wanted to?"

He was really asking for it. Without a word of warning, she lit the biotics in her blood and caught him in a mass effect field, lifting him ten feet off the ground and spinning him a little. "I don't know," she hissed. "What does it look like to you?"

"Goddammit, Jack, put me down."

"Whatever you say."

She let go, sending him crashing to the ground, hard enough to bruise. He shot her a reproachful look as he struggled to his feet, looking especially wounded, like she'd breached some kind of agreement between them. "Don't do that again."

"Sure, whatever you say. Now can we go kill this Blue Suns asshole so I can lie down?"

He shrugged his assent, and they continued on as if nothing had happened. But she didn't tell him that lifting him had sent a lance of pain running through her skull, like someone had jammed a red-hot poker in her eye socket and wiggled it around. She didn't tell him that he was right to be worried, because they had shit to do, assholes to kill, and she had no time for injury or weakness.

* * *

The sun set on their third day on Rannoch, dipping behind clouds thick with storms. In the distance, a low rumbling shook the earth, and a flash of light laced the clouds. The conditions were not optimal, but they'd decided as a group to initiate their plan against the mercs sooner than later. Shepard was experienced enough to know that striking while the iron was hot was never a bad plan, especially when delaying could mean the difference between an ill-prepared enemy force, and one strengthened by a supply run and reinforcements.

She'd split them into two groups to take out the AA guns; Kaidan and Tali on one side, she and Garrus on the other. One could run interference if needed, and at best they had two groups aiming toward the same goal. Above them, the remains of the quarian fleet took to the sky, the Normandy at the head.

_"Strange to see the quarians with such a small fleet,"_ Kaidan murmured on the comm. "_Not right."_

_"We lost many ships at the final battle_," Tali explained softly. _"And once we'd come home, we cannibalized what we could spare to build homes and cities."_

"It made you vulnerable," Garrus said at Shepard's side. She heard the slight disapproval in his voice.

_"Should we have lived in those ships forever?"_ Tali demanded, her voice bending on the comm. _"Can't you understand that we might have been anxious to make homes after three hundred years of exile?"_

"Of course I understand," Garrus replied. "But it still made you vulnerable."

Tali lapsed into tight silence, and Shepard knew she was probably offended that Garrus hadn't immediately taken her side. As much as she didn't like to say, Garrus was right. This situation with the mercs could have been avoided if the quarians hadn't been so eager to rebuild at the expense to their ability to defend themselves. This was the Terminus, and there was always something or someone out to get you.

"Stay sharp," she said needlessly; the silence between the four of them was already terse, the kind of silence that was watchful, alert for things that moved at the periphery and in the darkness. "Joker, can you read me?"

_"Aye, ma'am."_

"Stay out of range until I give you the word. Keep a lookout for that patrol."

_"You got it, Shepard."_

They made their approach carefully, winding through the crags and rocky trails; Kaidan and Tali approaching from the south, she and Garrus approaching from the northeast. Shepard winced as she stumbled a bit, the mouth of her rifle dipping toward the ground.

"All right?" Garrus asked her, hand on her shoulder.

"Fine," she said. "Keep moving."

Truthfully, she was not fine. Her right leg was a constant source of pain ever since it had been broken by the Crucible, almost a year ago. Most days it was manageable, but every now and then it would go stiff and sore, and it would be all she could do to keep moving. It had become her futile mantra; just keep moving like nothing was wrong.

It had taken corrective survey and months of rehabilitation to walk again. Of course she couldn't expect for her leg to be like it was before she'd been injured. Just like with her shoulder - forever weakened by dozens of dislocations. But with her legs, it was different. She needed those to work. It wasn't like she could start using her cane again while on assignment.

_"Easy,"_ Kaidan whispered over the comm. _"Watch the patrol."_

It was strange to be mad at Kaidan, considering how many days she'd spent desperately wishing to see him again. But it was so easy to build up a person in your mind when they weren't there to show you any differently. The Kaidan of her dreams and memories didn't override her orders and insist on his own.

She didn't like her plans being overridden. She didn't like that he'd insisted on coming along, even though in the event something went wrong, Hannah would be deprived of both her parents; it hadn't even been a consideration to him. She didn't like that he'd disagreed with her on the subject of EDI's blue box, insisting on giving it to Tali despite her (incredibly valid) misgivings.

She was Captain Shepard now, just like her mother. The Normandy was her ship. Her orders were obeyed.

And even then, they were supposed to be a united front . . . weren't they?

She pushed away her temper as they approached the base, the outline of it stark against the dark sky. More thunder rumbled in the distance. "Standby, Normandy," Shepard said, voice low. "On approach to the base. AA guns in sight."

_"Same,"_ Kaidan said._ "No contact so far."_

Shepard and Garrus approached the north AA gun while keeping a careful scan of the perimeter. There were a few patrols on the periphery, but it had been pitifully easy to sneak past them. Though it would have been easy to kill them outright, they'd decided beforehand not to engage; startled mercs would hit the panic button and summon the rest, or they'd escape on their ships, and this whole plan would have been for nothing.

Garrus set to work on the gun while Shepard resumed the sweep. She could hear the faint rumbling of the ships overhead, obscured by the increasing storm. A few drops of rain slid down her neck to the trench of her spine. She did not shiver.

_"Come on, you bosh'tet,"_ Shepard heard Tali curse on the comm, her voice frizzing slightly on the weakened frequency.

_"Oh, god,"_ Kaidan muttered.

"What is it?" she demanded, stomach sinking at the tone of his voice.

_"I don't know about your end, but these guns have a failsafe. They're still active,"_ he told her.

"Garrus?"

He let out a string of curses the translator had no equivalencies for. "Same here, Shepard."

"Well, where the hell would the backup be?"

_"In the base, most likely,"_ Tali said. _"I've got a few programs I can use; should be able to find it."_

"Shit," Shepard hissed.

So much for their plan; go in, mess up the guns, get out and let the fleet bomb the mercs to hell. At this point, they'd be lucky if they got through the base without alerting the entire system to their presence. Not to mention they now had to worry about getting out of the base after the guns were disabled.

_"Orders?"_ Kaidan prompted quietly, and she immediately felt like a horrible wretch for being so angry at him before.

"We infiltrate the base, shut down the guns, and continue as planned," Shepard said, injecting the necessary steel into her voice. "Normandy, quarian fleet; standby."

She heard the rip-rumble of a quarian ship igniting, and the answering klaxon from the base nearly took her head off. _"Negative, Captain,"_ Joker shouted, voice distorting over the comm so badly that she could hardly recognize him at first. _"The patrol's seen our rear!"_


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Many thanks to my reviewers this time around: Anon1, Eden, Anon2, Cortina2, greeneyedkirk, merlicrazy, hornyzombie, gracie21, Galtori, CuHnadian, Cmd Mercy Shepard, jay8008, Ellwyndara, magicklibra, Anon3, and CyanB, and to everyone else who had read, faved, and followed this story. You guys are all amazing.**

**Thank you for being so patient with me while I take my sweet time with updates. Still trying to finish the first draft of my book, and things are heating up, so that's exciting. But I should always have some time to keep this story going, because I really love writing it.  
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**One of these days you guys are going to kill me for the cliffhangers, of which there are 2 in this chapter. But until that day, I will continue doing them, because I'm pretty certain that I'm secretly evil.  
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**I absolutely adore hearing back from you guys, so please feel free to leave me a review and share with me your thoughts - what you liked, what you want to see, whatever! Thank you so much for reading, everyone. I hope you enjoy! :)  
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Shepard heard the explosion above their heads - a three second delay followed by a pulse so loud that it nearly knocked her off her feet. "Normandy!" she hissed into her comm, a half-formed thought of the ship blown into its component atoms, her little bean ended before she could grow. "Report!"

_"One of the quarian ships_," Joker replied promptly; she heard him breathing hard.

"Right," Shepard said, and while she knew it was monstrous to feel relief at the death of her allies, that was not enough to stop the surge of it that flooded her senses. "Joker - pursue and destroy. If we're going to bring this base down, we need the sky clear for you to make a shot."

_"Aye, ma'am! These assholes are dead already_," Joker returned. _"They just don't know it." _The comm blipped out.

"Orders, Shepard?" Garrus asked her.

It took Shepard about three seconds to formulate a plan, the disjointed odds and ends coming together into something cogent. "Kaidan, Tali; resume as planned. Find the failsafe and destroy it. Garrus and I will run interference, draw the mercs away from you."

_"There's too many, Shepard!"_ Kaidan argued. _"You can't -"_

"We can handle them, Kaidan," she interrupted, and though adrenaline screamed in her ears, she made her voice gentle. "But you and Tali are better at taking these kinds of things apart. I need you to do this, all right?"

There were four seconds of silence before he replied. _"Aye, ma'am."_

She turned to Garrus, noting the twitching of his mandibles, his overly bright eyes. "You ready for this, Vakarian?"

He popped out a hissing thermal clip, resting the butt of his rifle on his hip. "It hurts that you even have to ask."

She nodded. She thought of her precious daughter in a death trap high above the world, her soon-to-be husband less than a mile away, and how easily he could be caught and destroyed. She leapt over a boulder and took off running toward the entrance of the base, and though it sent an ache running through her shoulder and a lance of pain shooting up her thigh, she pushed through it. She was loud, obvious: opening fire on the night guards, blowing out consoles and windows, she and Garrus carousing like harbingers of death.

She would bring every goddamn merc in the base on their heads before she was through.

* * *

For someone who was supposed to be the highest ranking Blue Suns officer on Omega, Tallock was surprisingly conspicuous. James and Jack managed to find him after only four hours of listening to comm traffic, and if he was aware of the two freelance nobodies tailing him, he made absolutely no effort whatsoever to shake them. James took note of the guards - a dozen standards, half-dozen engineers, half-dozen vanguard class - and the slow, meandering path they made through the upper levels.

"Where the fuck is he going?" Jack muttered. He thought for a moment that her voice sounded slurred - or was it concern that was playing with his ears?

"Don't know," James said. "Checking out his prospects?"

"He needs to pick a place and stay there. I don't want to splatter his brains when we're so exposed."

James'd had the same idea. "You got it."

"Think he knows we're following him?"

"If he doesn't, he's a moron. Which bodes well, if you think about it."

"Maybe he doesn't care. He's got a lot of meat-shields following him around."

"Probably been expecting the worst for a long time."

Jack made a wordless noise of assent. "So what's the plan, Beefsteak?"

"Don't you start calling me that."

"Why not? It's catchy. Appropriate." She pinched his arm - or tried to, through the plate of his armor. It was almost as if she hadn't considered his arm wouldn't be possible to touch. "Not so fun, getting a nickname you hate, is it?"

"Is that what this is about? Jesus, Jack. I haven't given you a nickname."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd kick my ass to Sunday, that's why."

She actually giggled, and James felt himself recoil in alarm. He'd never heard such a thing come through her lips in all the time that he'd known her. Not that he didn't like the sound of her laughter - especially when it wasn't layered in a thousand shades of sarcasm or bitterness - but the fact that it was so rare made him nervous. "I like that - kick your ass to Sunday. Remind me to do that when we're done here."

"Won't you remember yourself?"

"Probably not." Jack rubbed her forehead. "That asshole cracked me good."

James didn't think she realized she kept repeating herself, more and more frequently as the day progressed. "Do you need to sit this one out?"

"Are you fucking kidding? And leave you to fight two dozen Blue Suns assholes, not to mention their merry asshole commander? You're out of your fucking mind."

He'd more or less been prepared for the vehemence of her reaction. "Right. Maybe take it easy, though. So we can get you to a doctor after."

"I don't need a fucking doctor," she snapped. "I need a fucking beer and a nap. Got it?"

He'd argue about this later, when Tallock was dead. "Whatever you say, Jack."

"Ugh." She rubbed her forehead again, her face screwed up in pain. "I'd kill that asshole if he wasn't already dead."

James found he could commiserate. "Arvo sure came through, didn't he?"

She kicked a pile of soaking garbage aside, where it splattered wetly against the wall of some burned-out warehouse. "That guy makes me nervous."

"You? Nervous?"

Her eyes flashed. "If you're going to be a horse's ass, I'll just keep my fucking genius editorials to myself."

"We can't have that."

"Right. Anyway. Arvo makes me nervous because . . . well, I get the feeling that he really believes all this claptrap about them doing a good turn for the galaxy, you know? If he was just some opportunistic asshole out to make a buck, that'd be easier to deal with. But he actually thinks he's in the right. He believes their story, Abrax's story. And it's like . . . I don't know. It makes me wonder."

Something curdled in James' gut, like sour meat. "Makes you wonder what?"

"I don't know. Just . . . makes me start thinking about whether these assholes have a point."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Will you calm down? I'm not saying I'm actually going to join up with them in spirit or - or whatever. But it's like, they have a point, which is why it's so easy for them to find people to throw at their goals. There are regular joes who got swept under the rug by the Alliance, told to wait while they built the Crucible, and if you look at it from their perspective, it just seems like their government left them hanging out to dry while the Reapers came and wrecked shit. And now the Reapers are gone and the Alliance and the Council and the Turian Hierarchy and whatever just want to waltz back into their positions of power like nothing happened. Don't you see how that would chafe at someone like Arvo? Someone like a nameless, faceless civilian - the kind of people that governments see as numbers rather than actual people with lives and goals and shit."

"So what exactly should they do about it - the Alliance and the rest?" James demanded, trying to get a handle on his temper. "Just let these assholes take charge because they might have a small point, even though they know nothing about governance or law or the hard questions that the Alliance and the Council have to deal with, and have dealt with for years?"

"I'm not saying they're right, James," she said, and she looked up at him with such a total absence of guile, that it nearly stunned him; he'd never seen such an expression on her face in the time that he'd known her. "I'm just saying that's why it's so easy for the shadow cell to find people. Because they have a point. Because the Alliance did fuck up - they fucked up when they took three years to listen to Shepard's warnings about the Reapers. Same thing with the Council. They stuck their fingers in their fucking ears and just wished for it to go away instead of getting off their asses."

There was a logical part of James that knew she had a point, and that point stared him in the face whenever he saw a news bit about a bombed out colony with no survivors, or what happened to the families of those batarians he'd gotten to know while playing cards on the Citadel. And yet, there was a louder part of him, which took this logical diatribe and interpreted it as a personal accusation. He shouldered his rifle. "If you really want to talk about this, how about we talk about it later, huh?"

"Whatever you want," Jack said, shrugging as she drew her shotgun, checking the thermal clip cursorily. "Just as well; looks like our little friend Tallock is going to ground."

He looked up, peering into the smoggy distance of the Kyo district. Jack was right; Tallock and his Blue Suns had filed into another abandoned warehouse. He saw the batarian gesture lazily with his right hand, and at that command, four grunts clustered around the door, leaning against the wall and playing with their guns with an air of confident boredom. "Looks like it," James agreed.

"How're we going to do this?"

"Probably should find a back entrance. Unless you want to fight all twenty-five of them at once, plus whatever reinforcements they manage to call."

"Might be fun," she said airily, but he noticed her wince as she rubbed at her temples.

"Maybe, but . . . don't know that I could keep up with you today," he wheedled, praying she wouldn't see through his misdirection.

She must have really been hurt, because she did not. Her lips pulled upward in a pleased smirk, but her gaze seemed a little foggy. Whether she liked it or not, once they were done with this, he was going to drag her stubborn ass to a clinic and get that head checked out. "We'll do it your way," she agreed dimly. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"Glad we're in agreement," he said quietly. It took a concentrated effort not to push back a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, though when she looked up at him again, he nearly believed that she could see through his lie - straight through to the hidden heart of what he tried to deny.

Without another word, she looked away and disappeared into a dank alleyway, and he filed quickly after her.

* * *

"Captain, three ships down, and we got the last on the run," Joker said, his voice frizzing as the Normandy passed through some interference. "Should be pursue?"

"Negative, Joker," Shepard shouted, breathing hard. "Get back here and standby!"

"Aye, ma'am! Don't get yourself killed, all right?"

A missile whistled through the smoky air of the bunker, and Shepard felt a slight delay between the impact and the resulting explosion as it rocked the ground beneath her feet, sending her crashing to the ground a good ten feet away. " I will do my best," she coughed as she got to her feet, clutching her chest.

One thing was for sure; these mercenaries were no amateurs. They'd fought in the war, probably, and there was probably a good couple centuries of experience between them all. "Garrus!" she called through the haze. "You alive?"

"Shepard, I've taken a missile to the face and lived to brag about it. It'll take more than that to bring me down," Garrus replied, sending a concussive shot straight into the middle of a group of mercs, howling with laughter when the shot connected and splattered little bits of merc on the walls.

There hadn't been word from Kaidan for ten minutes. She knew better than to distract him when it wasn't necessary, but a cold fist of fear held her heart in its grip anyway, and at this point she doubted it would ever leave her.

"Let's find the shuttle bay," Shepard said. "Cut these bastards off."

"You got it. Besides, I bet we'll need to make a daring escape in a bit here."

Shepard let out a short bark of laughter, not quite an expression of joy, more one of wry amusement. "Kaidan, Tali; when you get the failsafe, get your asses to the shuttle bay. We're going to need to bug out quick."

There was static for six seconds, then a weak _"Aye, Shepard!"_ She tried not to let it get any further under her skin.

* * *

"All right," Jack said, wincing. "I got an idea."

"Shoot."

She poked her head from behind the crate the two of them hid behind, watching the slow, meandering progress of Tallock's guards. For his part, the man himself had parked his butt right in the middle of the floor in an absurd display of confidence. Either he didn't know his number was up, or he was playing with them.

"I'll hit the grunts with shockwave - you hit the engineers with some explosive rounds, fry their shields. Group the rest up with a singularity, warp 'em, move on to Tallock. He'll be cake without his little meat shields," Jack whispered. "Think you can handle that?"

"Seems like you're doing most of the work."

"Just mop up whatever I miss; we'll be fine."

This was the detriment to strategizing with an immensely powerful biotic; she didn't entertain contingencies or the usefulness of allies. She was a one-woman battering ram, and those who fought with her were often regulated to clean up duty.

"Jack, I think -" he started to say, but she'd already popped up from cover, her hand crooked and glowing with so much biotic power that it made the hairs on his arm stand up. She hurled a shockwave large enough that it knocked aside half of the mercs, sent them careening into the walls where they splattered like flimsy toys.

He kept to cover and shot an incendiary round toward the engineers, who'd already had a chance to summon their drone. "Shit," he muttered; the round burned the hell out of their armor, but that was just about all it did. Another man might have panicked when Tallock whipped around with guns blazing, spending a spray of fire toward their position, but James had gotten the ordinary drilled out of him through years of harrowing experience and training. He waited for the fire to abate before hurling a grenade in the general direction of the rest of the mercs, grinning when he heard the answering explosion tempered with the wet, squelchy sounds of limbs separated from their owners.

All in all, it was going okay. That was his general thought right before everything went to hell. Jack managed to cut through a handful of them before they drew their weapons and retaliated in equal measure. He had three grenades left, and he was making judicious use of them. Tallock was wounded. The engineers were down. The biotics were putting up a fight, but with Jack going on as she was, they wouldn't last long. He remembered a feeling of cautious optimism growing in his gut when he heard Jack cry out, and it felt as if he'd been submerged in a vat of icy water.

She was suspended in pain, and he saw a deluge of blood streaming from her nose. Her back arched in agony, fingers like claws in her hair, which had come totally undone and hung around her face in thick tangles. He saw her sink to her knees as if the world had slowed and quieted, as if he watched the whole thing from an incredible distance.

"Jack!" he heard himself shout, still from a thousand miles away.

She didn't seem to hear him. He watched as she tried to push through the pain, hurling a singularity so large at the last group of mercs that it caught them all in its pull, dragging them through the room, smashing them on the walls and ceiling, where they dangled like limp rag dolls. But when she threw the warp, she screamed again; her eyes popping so wide that they were encircled by a perfect ring of white, a perfect circle of pain. Her scream thudded in his ears, and he had the distant, dumb thought that he would hear her scream like this for the rest of his life, the sound of it burned into his brain.

He saw her collapse into a twitching heap, and from that moment, the world went red, a haze of incomprehensible sensory input he could not process. There was sound - he knew that much. The scream of bullets and grenades, and screaming. It took him too long to realize the screams came from him.

And then, the present snapped back to him like a rubber band. Jack: collapsed at his feet. Tallock: bleeding across the room. The mercs: all dead, strewn around the room like detritus. His rifle: hissing, the clip spent. He didn't wait to think about it being stupid or risky; instead, he leapt from cover and crossed the room in the span of a few heartbeats, slamming into Tallock and beating him senseless with the butt of his gun.

The batarian slammed his fist into James' face, but he hardly felt the blow connect, the tender flesh and bone smarting. He slammed his rifle into the batarian's face over and over again until he stopped moving, until his hand fell limply at his side, until his face was a wrecked mass of meat and blood.

He staggered away from the corpse, wiping the splatters of blood off his face. Jack - the sound of her name had become a ringing mantra, a desperate plea. He stumbled to her side and collapsed onto his knees, turning her face toward his. The blood from her nose had started to coagulate, pooling at the hollow of her neck. He fumbled for her wrist, and a half-broken sound escaped his lips when he felt a pulse there.

In a few minutes, reinforcements would arrive to find their Commander dead, his face nearly unrecognizable, his mean ravaged by ordinance they had not been prepared for. They did not, however, arrive in time to see the culprits - two freelance nobodies, a beefy man and a slight woman curled up into his arms like a child, her limbs dangling limply as he ran.

* * *

When they reached the shuttle battle, Shepard and Garrus cleaned out the room with efficiency only special forces could emulate. There, they made their stand. Every skulking merc that tried to breach the bay was met with a level of force they could not match - Shepard, hurling warps and throws like she'd been born with the ability; Garrus, making quick work of what was left with his trust sniper rifle.

It was going well, she thought. The Normandy and quarians had the space-borne mercs on the run, Kaidan and Tali had not run into any interference so far. She should have known, then. Just when things are looking good, it's easiest for them to take a sharp left turn into shit.

_"Shepard, we got the failsafe_!" said Kaidan via the intercom, his beloved voice fuzzing around the sound of blaring alarms in the background. _"Get airborne - we're right behind you; ETA 5 minutes."_

"We'll wait for you, Kaidan," she told him. "Nothing we can't handle so far."

_"Negative, Captain; you guys need to bug out ASAP!"_ Joker shouted. "_The mercs brought reinforcements!"_

"How many?"

_"Three ships, and they're trying to land. Get the hell out of there now, Shepard!" _

"Dammit," she hissed.

In hindsight, she would have stayed. She would have told Joker to hold his fucking horses, told him to hold them off, just like always. Instead, she filed into the first shuttle she found, running her thumb over the ridge of her rifle as Garrus fired up the launch sequence. When the shuttle took hurtled into the night sky, she thought she heard another explosion above the rattling of the shuttle, and she only breathed again when radio chatter confirmed it was one of the merc ships down.

"What the hell are you doing?" Garrus shouted suddenly into the comm. "Joker, tell them to hold off!"

Shepard was at his side in the next heartbeat. "What's happening?"

There was indecipherable chatter, but Shepard thought she caught the phrase _'not going to let this pass -'_ before it cut off into static.

"What are they doing?!" she demanded, louder this time.

"They're - they're opening fire on the base now," Garrus said, before launching into a stream of cursing the translator had no equivalencies for. "For the love of -"

"All ships, stand down!" she howled into the comm. "We've still got people down there!"

Silence, static. She waited with clenched teeth for a response, but the silence only stretched longer until she half-hoped that perhaps this time the quarians would listen to her plea.

In the end, that hope was for nothing. She heard the unmistakable rip-thud of quarian cannons opening fire, the hollow delay of about ten seconds before they connected groundside, and though she couldn't hear the resulting explosion, she could feel it as if the sound of it was pressed against her ears, as if the rubble and detritus tore into her flesh and not -

"Kaidan!" she screamed.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Many thanks to magicklibra, Eden, freakingmuse, Anon1, gracie21, Anon2, hornyzombie, Cortina2, Galtori, CuHnadian, LaraNeedsANewName, jay8008, Ellwyndara, greeneyedkirk, and CyanB for your reviews, and to everyone else who has read, faved and followed. You guy are amazing.**

**I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again - going to try and work on my book some before I start my new job a week from today. (Or I might freak out and just update constantly in that time - who knows!) Anyways, I won't go too long without getting the next chapter to you guys!  
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**I absolutely love hearing back from you, so don't be shy - drop me a line and tell me what you thought! Thanks so much for reading, everyone! I hope you enjoy.  
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It did not take long for the word to reach Arvo - not to mention Omega at large - that the last Blue Suns Commander on the station had been killed by a pair of unknown freelancers. The reports went on to say that Tallock had not been relieved of his head as instructed, but in his current state it wouldn't be much use to him anyway. News bits ran the footage of the batarian's smashed and bloody face for the next few days, reporting breathlessly of the ensuing furor in the Suns.

And Arvo had approved.

He leaned back in his chair and cradled his head with interlocked fingers, grinning at the beefsteak ex-soldier sitting across from him, the man's worried brow pulled low over hazel eyes. His scarred lips twitched.

"You two did good," Arvo said breezily. "I asked for the head, though."

"Things got hot. We had to get out of there quick," Beefsteak muttered.

"Right, right. Well, a job done is a job done in my eyes. Welcome aboard."

The man only grunted in assent.

"Where's your fiery little biotic friend? She get herself killed?"

"No," Beefsteak snapped, a little too forcefully. "She's indisposed."

"Be clear, boy. What happened?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about. She got hurt, got patched up. She needs to rest for a few days before she gets back into it. And then we're at your disposal."

"Two of you, huh? Nice, neat little package deal?"

"That's right."

Arvo picked at his dirty fingernails, tracing the edge of one where the nail had been pried off completely. "Take your time, then. Get in fighting shape. We're going to need you for the next phase."

"Sure," Beefsteak said, standing.

"Don't take too long, though." Arvo grinned up at him. "We're going to need your little friend especially. That kind of biotic power doesn't come around every day."

"It sure doesn't," Beefsteak said under his breath. He paused in the doorway, and Arvo wondered briefly if he had thought of something else to say; maybe some kind of rebuke, or an accusation. But the moment passed, and he was gone before Arvo could say another word. Thunking footsteps echoed through the halls after he'd gone, picking up their pace until almost the speed of a sprint.

* * *

It was a struggle to break into consciousness, but Kaidan was a fighter, and he'd been one for nearly his whole life. He wrenched his stiff eyes open after an indeterminate span of time spent in effort, quickly working out what had happened. They had been running, Kaidan remembered; pounding through the halls of the base. There had been an explosion just as they had reached the shuttle bay, the structure collapsing on top of them. Something had knocked him down, and he remembered no more.

He scanned his surroundings cursorily. The darkness was nearly complete; no light filtered through any cracks or holes in the rubble around them, which did not bode well. In the distance, he could hear the vague scrapping of more detritus collapsing onto itself.

"Tali?" he called hoarsely. "Are you there?"

She groaned, and he heard a pile of rocks shift. "Here," she whispered, a few feet to his left.

He dragged himself out of his supine position and across the floor, tossing aside whatever rubble stood in his way. "Are you hurt?"

He heard her voice catch. "I don't know," she said, tremulous as a wounded bird. "I'm cold."

"Shit," he muttered. She probably had a breech in her suit, an infection, a fever. "Anything broken?"

She shifted at his side, and he imagined that she flexed her limbs, testing them. "I don't think so. Something ruptured my suit though."

"Seals working?

He heard her shift again, and he groped for her in the darkness, his fingers finally brushing her mask, breaking open over the jagged remains. "Your mask. . . ."

"Keelah," she whispered, coughed. "I don't think I'm going to last long."

"You won't have to," he told her stoutly. "Shepard is looking for us. She and Garrus both. They'll find us."

He felt Tali shake her head. "I don't know." She coughed again. "Are you hurt?"

He took stock of his condition, blinking through hazy disorientation. He could feel all of his extremities. His right arm felt broken, though, and when he prodded his side a hiss of pain came unbidden from between clenched teeth. His fingers closed around a large chunk of shrapnel that had punched through his armor and embedded into his flesh, the surface of it sticky with blood.

So that explained the disorientation. He'd probably lost a lot of blood in the time he'd been unconscious. It was odd that he hadn't immediately felt pain from the wounds, though. "I'm all right," he said.

"You're lying."

"Not much." He swallowed a wave of nausea as the chunk of shrapnel shifted. "Let's see if we can get you stable."

"Don't know how much you'll be able to do," she said weakly, but he ignored her. He activated his Omni-tool, and winced when it threw a bright light through the enclosure, illuminating their prison, which was about ten by six feet. When he looked above them, his heart sank. There was no light coming through, no air. They were trapped in a space with limited oxygen, and it would not replenish as quickly as they would consume. Kaidan quickly did the math, estimating that they had a few hours left, if that.

He shook his head against the bleak thoughts that threatened him. This was a prison, not a grave, he insisted to himself. They would get out of this.

In the harsh light, Tali's condition became more apparent. The mask was broken, but not badly, and he saw the mostly intact shards littered around her like glass. "Ever put a mask back together again?" he asked her.

"Reegar talked about having to do it a few times, when things got hard. It . . . didn't usually go well."

"But it wasn't always a failure, was it?"

She was silent for a moment. "No," she said finally. "Not always."

"Right." He set to work, flipping on a tracking program on his Omni-tool before rummaging for some sealant in his with his good arm, and trying not to wince when shifting his weight sent another sick wave of pain rolling through him. Tali watched him apply the sealant to the shards before fitting them together. "Lucky you have that," she said weakly.

"I like to be prepared."

"Good thing you do."

It was slow work, made more difficult by being unable to use one of his arms and the chunk of metal stuck in his side, making it hard to balance, hard to see, hard to think. But he finally fit the last piece into her mask, pressing it gently so the sealant would take hold. "How's that?"

She fiddled with a control panel on her suit. "Okay, I think," she said, and though her voice still sounded weak, it came through the reassuring filter of her suit. "Better. The seals clamped down on a few of the other breaches."

"Any antibiotics?"

"Yeah, I've got some now," she said. "Some were lost, though."

"We'll make do," Kaidan told her, bracing himself against another sick wave of pain. "Just have to hold on."

"Right," she echoed, though she did not sound convinced.

"I mean it," he said, a little more forcefully, blinking as the sight of her split apart and snapped back again. "We've gotten out of tougher spots. The Reapers, getting home the slow way." He shook her shoulder a little. "This is nothing compared to that."

"I guess not."

He heard the odd tone in her voice; speculative, almost bitter. It was unfamiliar coming from Tali. "What is it?"

She shook her head, the repaired mask reflecting the light from his Omni-tool in odd patterns on the walls, and though he could not see her face, he thought that at that moment she seemed impossible burdened, as if the weight of the rubble rested on her shoulders. "They betrayed us," she said quietly. "My - my people."

"What?"

"You heard what happened. Shepard told them to wait, and they opened fire instead. They - they didn't care that we were still down here, trying to get out. They didn't care that we had just risked our lives to open the shot for them. They . . . they didn't care about us."

"Maybe they had a reason -" Kaidan started, but Tali cut him off.

"You can't possibly forgive them for this," she said flatly. "Not even you. They risked your life, Shepard's life, Hannah's life. They would have blown the Normandy out of the sky if it served their purposes."

Kaidan said nothing. He knew Tali was right, but it wasn't his place to comment or influence her. Not when it came to her people.

"It's monstrous, what they've done. They don't care that we could be dead. I'm supposed to be an Admiral, but they don't care. So I start to wonder . . . if I'm so wrong about this, what else am I wrong about, when it comes to them?"

"What do you mean?" he asked her carefully.

"They decided they were going to rebuild the geth without speaking to the Council - without speaking to anyone at all, not even our neighbors in the Terminus. And I thought at first it was because they wanted the geth back in the way things had ended - allies, equals. But . . . "

"But what?" he prodded.

Tali pushed herself up in the rubble, looking away. "I thought it was odd," she said, almost to herself. "The technicians were not attempting to reintegrate free will to their core processes, so I spoke to the Admirals. They told me they would attempt to achieve free will last, after getting the geth back online. And I thought it was odd, because I thought that the was the whole point of this project; to honor Legion. To give the geth their lives back. But . . . it almost seemed like they just wanted their slaves back instead, and whatever they said about simulating free will later was just to placate me."

Kaidan was quiet, and the world seemed to shimmer before his eyes; anger or blood loss, or perhaps a combination of both. "Why didn't you tell us?" he asked quietly.

"I - I didn't know," Tali said. "I told myself it was irregular, but not malicious. I thought it was just part of the process. But now . . . now I wonder."

But Kaidan did not wonder. He knew, and the knowledge filled him with a sick, gut-churning anger. They'd been used and offered up to the mercs like pigs on a plate, apples in their mouths. They'd used Tali's loyalty to them, and Shepard's loyalty to Tali, and now that things were presumably fixed, they wouldn't even spare the men to dig them out of the rubble.

He slumped against the rocky wall, swallowing the burn of bile at the back of his throat. He was dizzier, and it was growing hard to concentrate.

"Kaidan!" Tali said suddenly. "Your - your side!"

He touched the protruding shrapnel, and though he made his touch light, the pain nearly knocked him unconscious. "Ah - god," he muttered.

Tali said nothing, instead dragging herself closer to him, her light fingers running over the wound. Vaguely, he tried to estimate how much blood he'd lost. If he'd bled at a rate of an eighth of a quart an hour, how long would it take him to become hypovolemic? Perhaps he was already. "I need to get this out," she said quietly, touching the shrapnel again.

"Don't," he hissed as it shifted. "I'll bleed out."

"You won't," she promised.

"You don't have enough medi-gel to close it up," he said through clenched teeth. "And neither do I."

"Keelah," Tali whispered. And he thought he caught a glimpse of his reflection in her fractured mask, so that his face appeared to be fractured as well, a thousand broken shards of a person, ground into the bloody dirt. He saw that his skin was pale as a sheet, covered with a fine sheen of sweat, smeared with blood. It was only after studying himself did he realize he was dying.

"They're coming," he insisted quietly.

"Of course they are," Tali said, and though he was fading, he thought he heard a note of panic in her voice. She coughed again, and he felt her shudder.

He thought of Shepard as he drifted. Of their beautiful daughter. She hadn't wanted him to come on this mission. She'd been angry at him for forcing his hand. But he'd remembered the days he thought she was dead, speeding through the void as he tried to make his way home. He remembered the days he'd known she was dead; the bleak, interminable stretch of them, vast as the sky above. He'd known that whatever she chose to do, he would be there at her side. Whatever fate waited for her, he would share it.

Perhaps he'd lost the chance, now. Perhaps he'd go to his fate before she broke through the rubble. He'd suffocate, maybe, or bleed to death in the darkness.

"They're coming," Tali reminded him, shuddering from the cold.

He did not reply.

* * *

Jack was usually pretty good about keeping her head on straight (literally, of course). Any asshole that came at her with less than peaceful intentions in every swaggering step never got close enough to crack her skull and rattle her brain into mushy bits. She'd made it a point of principle. As such, she was unfamiliar with the consequences. She hadn't known it would fuck her up badly enough to screw with her speech, her balance.

She hadn't known it would send a hot lance of pain running jagged lines through her skull, slicing through grey matter like a razor. She hadn't known it would be like fire, burning in her eyes, choking her, dragging her down. She'd fought it, even when the pain made it impossible to see. She'd fought it in vain.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the dull, thudding pain in her head. Not that she'd been conscious enough to have an opinion on the matter, but a small part of her hoped she'd wake up and be good to go, that all she had needed was a straight evening of sleep. No such luck.

She groaned, prodding at her sore skull. Maybe this was what the Major felt like most days, with migraines bad enough to bring him to his knees. He didn't let it interfere with his biotics, though. She would never say anything, but she'd been impressed when she watched him fight. The L2 was unstable as hell, but you couldn't deny that it got results.

There was a sound to her right, and she jerked upright, searching wildly for the source, her eyes wide. It was only James. He sat beside her, hunched in a chair instead of upright, the line of his spine a great, sweeping curve. He had circles beneath his eyes. Behind him, their little shitbox apartment was more or less unchanged.

She would never admit it to anyone, but she was so acutely relieved to see him that a small sigh escaped her, and she had to actively contain the urge to take one of his limp hands, pressing it between hers, savoring the solid, comforting weight of it.

"Jack," he croaked. It sounded as if he hadn't used his voice in years.

She swallowed something that felt a lot like guilt. "Hey," she groaned. "What the fuck happened?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, and she followed his harrowed gaze through the room before it finally focused on her once again. The pit of guilt deepened in her gut, and though he hadn't said a word otherwise, she knew that his misery was her fault.

"I thought it was just a concussion at first," James said. "Bad, but not real bad. Manageable."

"That's what I thought too."

"Brought a doctor here. He said a lot of medical stuff I didn't understand, but the takeaway was that your implant got rattled pretty bad." James trailed off, and the look he gave her made her want to swallow her own tongue.

"Might as well get this over with," she muttered. "Let me have it."

"What?"

She quirked a brow. "You're not itching to tan my hide for fucking up in the middle of a mission? I mean, I don't even know what happened. Did you get Tallock?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Smashed him up good."

"Huh. Nice."

He looked surprised that she'd paid him a compliment, and she felt a little guilty about that. He really was a good fighter, a good soldier. He deserved praise, and though giving it made her uncomfortable, she made a small promise to make a better effort. "Thanks, he said finally.

She huffed. "Anyways, just stop dancing around the issue and get the lecture out of the way."

The haunted cast to his features faded, giving way to incredulity. "Wha - lecture? Jack, I was worried about you. We didn't know if you'd wake up, if you'd have brain damage. The doc told me you'd be fine, but . . . but I was still worried. I'm not going to lecture you."

"Why? I was dumb," she admitted. "Bouncing around like I was fine when I wasn't. I should have known better."

One thick brow arched. "Do you want me to be mad or something?"

"Maybe I do!"

"Well, I'm not," he said, a little sharp. But the rebuke faded almost instantly. "I'm just . . . I'm just glad you're okay." His knotted hands broke apart, and for one wild second she feared that he would reach across the gap and take her own. Or was it desire that had curled up in her gut? But the moment passed, and his hands fell limply. "I'm sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for?" she muttered, uncomfortable.

"I know how you are," he said simply. "You don't like this stuff."

That wasn't true anymore, though, was it? She did like it, when it was coming out of his mouth. That was the problem. "Just leave it," she said.

"Right." He took a breath, seeming to steel himself. "Doc says you're not supposed to use your biotics for a while."

"What?!"

But James was not in the mood for shit. The harrowed exhaustion faded instantly, and he became sharp as a knife. "Do you want what happened to happen again?" he asked her pointedly. "Do you want to do that to me again?"

"I -"

"Think about it in terms of business," he said. "I'm good, but maybe next time I won't be so lucky. Maybe next time I won't be able to drag you to safety and bring down the rest of the assholes while you're seizing on the ground with a shit ton of blood pouring out of your nose. Maybe next time you'll die. Maybe we both will."

She narrowed her eyes. "That's low."

"It's the truth. Just lay off the biotics while your fucking skull heals up, okay? For the mission if nothing else." He looked away, his hands clenching into rough fists. _"Mierda_."

"Fine," she said. "Don't get excited."

His gaze snapped back to hers, and she saw that he was about to let her have it when he caught sight of her smirk, her arched brow. He let out a hard breath through his nose. "You're a real piece of work."

"Who even says that anymore?" she taunted. "You get that from an old movie or something?"

"Maybe I did," he fired back. "Nothing wrong with the classics."

"God. You're such an old man."

"Not much older than you."

"Right, right," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "So am I stuck on bed rest or something?"

"Doc didn't say anything about that," James said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not ruling it out, though."

"Ha! Like you'd be able to keep me here if you wanted to."

"You seem to be forgetting that you're not an immensely powerful biotic anymore," he said evenly. "You only have your wits and your strength at your disposal now. And I'm pretty sure I'm stronger."

"You may be," Jack said. "You wouldn't, though."

"Sure about that?"

"Yes," she said stoutly. "You'd feel guilty. I see it all over your meatball face."

"Ouch." But he grinned, and she felt like she hadn't seen a smile from him in years. It surprised her to realize how precious she found it, how beautiful. If she still wrote terrible poems, she might have ditched the ones about despair and darkness, and scribbled something about that smile instead, the way it suffused her like warmth, like the sun dappled through wide-leaf trees.

He stood up, stretching to his full height before turning to the kitchen, digging stuff out of the fresher and throwing it into a pan. The smell filled the room, her stomach curling with desire at the delicious scent of the meal. "How'd you know I was hungry?" she called over the sound of sizzling meat.

"I assume that you always are."

"Probably a good move," she said. "What are you making?"

"_Pollo encacahuatado,"_ he said. "It's, ah, chicken in peanut sauce."

"Damn. How do you find the ingredients for this stuff on Omega?" she wondered aloud. "Seems like peanut sauce would be kind of hard to find around here."

"I'm good with substitutions," he told her. "I've had lots of practice using what was around instead of what was strictly required."

"Who could have known it would come in handy?" she said, pushing herself upright and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She was a little dizzy, and every now and then faint twinges of pain flashed through the back of her skull, but it was a far sight better than the alternative, so she'd take it. She took a seat at the table expectantly. "Not that I'm complaining. If we had to rely on my culinary prowess to survive, we'd probably starve."

"Come on. You have to know how to make something."

"I really don't. My toast gets burned, my noodles stick to the pan, my meat is all dry and disgusting." She grinned at him. "So, uh, feel free to keep feeding me in style. This is the best I've eaten in my life."

"Thought you said my cooking was shit," he said mildly.

"I was lying."

"Get out of here. You? Lie?"

"Laugh about it some more, why don't you."

"I'm being serious! You, a liar? I think I'll have to re-examine my world-view next. Nothing I know is true!"

"Ugh, you're such an asshole," she muttered, burying her aching head in her hands. "Shut up."

"Sure, sure," he allowed, still chuckling.

He set a heaping plate of the chicken in front of her, and she barely waited to pick up the fork before devouring it, mowing through half the plate before he'd even sat down. "I feel like I haven't eaten in days," she said between mouthfuls.

"You haven't," he told her. "You were out for a while."

It had felt like a thousand years in some ways, and yet in others it had felt like only seconds passed, where one moment she was looking at James from across the room, his face rigid in a silent scream, and the next she was lurching upright, searching for him in a strange yet familiar place. She watched him mash up the chicken and rice on his plate, gloriously mixed together, wanton, like lovers, and realized that she'd followed suit without consciously realizing it.

She closed her eyes. Sometimes, it hurt to look at him.

"James?" she said finally?

"Hm?" He froze, mid-chew, mouth full of chicken.

"I -" she trailed off, feeling sick and nervous and so achingly lonely that she didn't know how to move on from this moment with her heart intact. Perhaps it was impossible to. "Thanks," she managed finally.

"For?"

She struggled to apply words to this wordless, formless thing that shifted in her, teasing on her tongue, impossible. "For . . . saving me. Bringing me back. Making sure I was okay."

He swallowed, and she only saw him look away because she'd become acutely aware of his every move, every minute shift of his gaze, every tiny move of his hands. "What was I going to do; leave you there?" he said finally.

"Someone else probably would have," she said quietly. "You didn't, though. So . . . thanks."

"Ah . . . don't mention it."

She wouldn't mention it again, but his care had made her bold. It went beyond their strictures, the rigid rules she had devised as armor would be, an interlocking phalanx around her heart. Later she would blame it on the concussion, or the fact that his cooking always seemed to soften her - as if he infused it with magic, perhaps, like in the stories she used to read - but she reached forward and rested her hand over his. And she knew, beyond that moment, that he did not draw away, that he looked at her as if she'd ceased to exist as he'd previously known her, instead clothed in a newer, braver skin.

* * *

Kaidan drifted, and in the darkness he was surrounded by ghosts. He saw his parents, probably long dead. His taciturn father, who had smiled maybe seven times in his life. He thought of his mother, and how she always smelled like cinnamon and cloves; too much time in the kitchen, baking constantly. He thought of the last time he'd spoken to them: insufficient goodbyes.

He thought of Ashley, too. She'd clap him on the shoulder and tell him to buck up, that this wasn't so bad; they'd gotten out of worse spots. He remembered her good-natured teasing, and her amusement at her two commanding officers finding themselves inexplicably in love, without any intention or prodding. He remembered how that had gotten her killed.

He shifted in the rubble, his head thunking back. The three of them had been close, but Ashley had been like a sister to him. And he missed her. He thought of what it would be like if all three of them were together again - Ashley with little Hannah on her knee, bouncing the baby higher and higher. He thought of her smiling as Hannah screeched in glee. Light eyes, sweet laughter shared between them.

It was harder to concentrate, now. He was aware of Tali beside him, breathing slowly. Every now and then she would speak, but he could no longer make out the words. She had a fever, he remembered. Her suit was breached. Struggling like he was. He should be up - pulling at boulders and detritus, digging a way out into the open sky. Helping, saving, doing his job. But he lacked the strength. He was nearly bled dry.

He thought of Shepard. She'd lain on the Citadel for three days after the Crucible fired, and when they found her, she was nearly dead. But she'd held on; for him, for their beautiful little daughter, only a whisper in her womb.

His beautiful Shepard. Why had they waited so long?

He thought he heard her voice, a sound at the edge of hearing, before he sank into the darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: HUGE special thanks to my reviewers this time around: Ortholeine, Kat, Alpenwolf, Eleneri, dorko525, magicklibra, galtori, cortina2, gracie21, Anon1, CuHnadian, Lady Seraphina, millsenberry, FreakingMuse, Anon2, jay8008, Ellwyndara, Jules Hawk, and CyanB, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed. You guys are amazing.**

**So once again I must apologize for this really long absence. These last few months have been crazy - real life stuff, finally finished the first draft of my novel - and there is a threshold after leaving a story so long where it is hard to pick up again. But I hope with this chapter I have succeeded, so that I can begin writing it regularly again. Thank you all so much for your patience.**

**I love hearing back from you, so drop me a review and let me know what you liked and what you would like to see. Thank you so much for reading. **

_He has been here before. _

_There are slivers of memory that penetrate the murk. Not his name or his rank, but odd essentials. He remembers gunfire, that familiar rat-a-tat marking time to an imminent headache lacing through his skull, the pain that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, his longest companion. He remembers crumbling walls, screams on the comm. Betrayal? _

_He remembers voices. _

_"Kaidan!" _

_He knows that voice – electric, metallic, high with panic and guilt. He sees pieces of a mask under his dust-bound fingers. He sees blood – hers? Or his? _

_There is a hole in his side. _

_He remembers the explosion, but not the entry. He remembers pain that is bladelike – not the throbbing twinge of the migraines, but something more desperate. _

_"Get him out of there!" _

_That voice – he would know that voice anywhere, even if all else faded and he was left deaf and small in darkness. That voice is a blade itself, a bright and broken sword, a light in shadow. He imagines it cutting through the murk, and though he is half-dead and bloodless, he struggles to break through, if only to lessen the hard edge of fear coiled within. If he had hands, he would reach out for her. If he had a voice, he would speak. _

_He lies flat on his back and drifts in this half lit place. He imagines ripples haloing his body, spreading outward slow as molasses before they freeze. As he drifts, fragments reach him from across the expanse; a reminder that there is a world where the air and water is not the same temperature as his body, where he does not lie in stasis, feeling his life bleed away. He would cross it if he had legs, if he had a body. If he lived. _

_But he is alive. He must be. He remembers crossing a different expanse, hounded by the desperate fear that she had died, and later when he knew that she lived, the desperate need to be at her side. He imagines beating his hands against the barrier that separates him from the living and the dead, but he has no hands. He has no body. _

_And he drifts. He thinks that maybe they're meant to be separate – that the galaxy can't bear the weight of them joined as they are. Maybe they are meant to want, to seek, to forever lose each other again and again, consigned to seeking, cursed to wanting. They are cursed to lose again and again until one of them crosses a threshold that you don't come back from. _

_But … _

_HANNAH! _

_There is a girl with Shepard's eyes and his hair. There is a girl hardly bigger than a bun, with hands the size of his thumb and nails like seashells, little strong fingers curling around his own, little bright eyes that know the shape of him already. There is a seed of a girl that they share, and he will not lose his way when there are words to teach and steps to take and places to see, when there are tears to dry, worries to soothe, dreams to nurture. He will not lose his way, because his daughter and his wife are out there. _

_"Please, Kaidan …" comes that blade voice from through the murk, from across the expanse. _

_And he follows it. _

* * *

Resigned to confinement in their shitbox of an apartment, Jack paced. She seethed. Every few moments she would cast her glare over to her warden, but James remained unmoved and unaffected by the sharpness of her stare. She knew it wasn't likely that James was enjoying this at her expense – and she didn't know whether this knowledge should scare her or not – but it didn't stop the fact that his placid expression was starting to piss her off.

"We should be out there," she said, jamming her index finger indignantly toward the door. "We've got things to do."

"You've got things to do right here," James said, unconcernedly.

"Resting is not doing something," she bit back.

"Sure it is."

"It's not doing anything important."

"Look, Jack. I said we'd pick up tomorrow and I meant it. We're just being careful."

"We?"

"Yeah, we. It's your head, and it's our mission. Just do me a favor and relax, all right? You're going to give yourself a nosebleed."

"I'll give you a nosebleed if you don't shut your face."

They had officially reached the point where her pointed jabs no longer affected him negatively; in fact, she thought that he might even have taken it as a term of endearment. It scared her to think that might have been how she meant it. "Come on. Just one more day, all right? Give me that much."

The fight left her like air out of a balloon. With a resigned sigh, she took a heavy seat at the table and buried her head in her arms. "Yes, master."

"Come on. None of that, now. Just try to humor me without the theatrics."

"Fine. No theatrics. One hundred percent serious. Yes, sir."

He threw up his hands. "Dios mio. God forbid we play this incredibly dangerous mission careful, right?"

"You'd be the same if you were in my shoes," she accused, and the thought brought a grin to her face. "Stir crazy. You'd be an even bigger baby about it."

When he saw her grin, the fight left him too. "Would I now?"

"Sure would. Stomping around, kicking things over, doing push-ups. Being a real jerk about it, too. A real show-off about it. You know you would."

"And I guess you think I should be impressed that you know me so well, right?"

"You should. You're one of two people I've even bothered to try and know at all."

She hadn't meant to, but with those words she'd ruined the light, teasing mood. He was abruptly solemn as a judge, but there was something else on his face that scared the shit out of her; something confused and tender and irritating, something vast.

"Don't let it go to your head," she said casually, fishing a cigarette out of her pocket. "Like you get."

But that wasn't how he got, was it? She knew enough about him now, too; that what she'd assumed to be vanity was more like fear, that the strength he cultivated wasn't to show off but to protect, that those easy smiles and bright eyes concealed something she recognized so well because it was the same sick rot that had hollowed her out for years and years. And for the first time she took this realization to heart. He wasn't some showboating jackass. He was different. She knew that.

She loved that.

No – no no no. Down came the curtain. She took a hard drag on her cigarette and willed her trembling hands to quiet. This was stupid bullshit. She had enough to worry about, yet here she was flirting with this absurd truth as if she couldn't be happy without constantly duking it out in her head, wrestling with a metric ton of fucking bullshit.

A sudden flash of inspiration took hold, gorgeous in its simplicity. She knew the last time she'd had an idea like this she'd only made things worse, but this was different; this was perfect. This would cure all. She couldn't handle him looking at her with that kind of care and pity, that tender regard that she was growing to need despite the screaming in her head that told her to cut and run. So fine; she could no longer obey that screaming voice. But she could try to scare him off.

And how easy would it be! Her entire life was a graveyard of regret and abuse. How many shitty things had been done to her? How many shitty things had she done herself? He'd take one good hard look at the mess of her mind and he'd cut it off because he was smart, smarter than she'd given him credit for in those first days.

They were stuck here for the whole day, weren't they? He'd put his foot down and insisted she rest, because on some level he cared; it was all over his stupid face, in the way his eyes lingered not on her breasts but on the insides of her wrists, the scars there, on her temples half-hidden by hair, on her eyes. God damn it. God damn it.

This was why she didn't want to stick around, stuck in close quarters, close enough to breathe him in with every breath, even with the smoke covering it up. As if she needed that.

"You all right?" he asked her after the silence had gone on long enough.

No, not really. She steeled herself, avoiding his eyes because those were dangerous to focus on, with the way they were. Just lay the foundation, set it up. She was a good liar, wasn't she? "Just thinking," she ground out.

"About?" He really wanted to know, too. He wasn't just being polite. God fucking damn it.

"Just . . . how long was I out, again?"

"Couple of days. I . . . I kind of lost track. Why?"

"Oh, nothing really bad." Liar. "Just . . . fuck, I don't know. Weird dreams while I was out. Things I haven't thought about in a while."

There it was. She saw instantly that he was hooked – that he cared, that he wanted to know. Luck willing, she'd scare that out of him in a few minutes. Though she wasn't much for faith, she sent up a half-cogent prayer to an equally random deity that this stupid gambit would work and he'd stop looking at her like that, because she knew she wouldn't be able to bear much more of it.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "You don't have to – I mean, I know how this stuff is for you."

God DAMN it. "It's not like it's all some big secret," she forced herself to say, affecting ease. Like this was old, and she didn't give two shits about it. Like she didn't have to struggle to crack open her chest and lay this stuff on the table for him to dig through, holding her breath, trying not to think about it too much. "It was mostly about Pragia. And – and Purgatory. I ever tell you about that?"

Of course she didn't – what a stupid question. But he shook his head and considered her, and she knew that he would shut his mouth, that he would listen completely; he wouldn't say a word. It was as if he'd spoken that promise aloud. Her resolve faltered for half a moment, but when she snuck a glance, at his eyes, the sight of them hit her like a sucker punch. She would get through this; she had to.

"Right," she said mirthlessly. "My tragic backstory. You know about Pragia, right? The basics?"

"Cerberus project. They were trying to develop the most powerful human biotic," he said. "They officially denied it – said it was a rogue cell, but I always thought that was shit."

"Yeah, it was shit all right. You think about what it would be like to live in a place like that – to grow up and know only rain and mud and the fights – and you look at me and wonder how I'm not crazy, right? Well, crazier. But there were two things I loved on Pragia before they beat it out of me. Both long gone now, even before I blew the place to hell.

"One was a tree in the courtyard they used to stage the fights in. Lots of trees on Pragia — that fucking mudball — so maybe you're wondering why this one was special. It had this huge, thick trunk and two branches growing outward, like they were reaching for the sky. When they brought me out for the fights, I'd put my hands on the trunk and marvel how thick it was. I'd dig in my roots or pretend I was covered in bark, so nothing could get me." She laughed, though it was laced with bitterness. "Lots of soppy symbolism in trees, you know? Dreamed about that while I was out the last few days.

James didn't say anything. He'd silently promised to listen and not to interject with his reactions, otherwise she knew she'd never get through it all; she'd wrap herself in his anger on her behalf like it was a blanket, and she'd stay there.

"They cut down the tree not long after that. The official story was that it had gotten too big, but I knew they cut it down because I liked that tree, because it gave me some comfort in a place that was supposed to be turning me into a flesh and blood nuke, rather than a person with desires and preferences."

He waited for her to continue, even after the silence grew too unwieldy to manage. "And the other?"

She almost didn't say it. But it was the truth, and maybe it'd scare him away. That was the whole point of this bullshit. "The other was a boy."

"Dios mio."

"He was another biotic child brought in, the ones they used as test subjects before using a procedure on me. They were terrible. They all knew that any kid brought in would inevitably be killed by some test or other. Because of that almost all of the kids there hated me, would have killed me if they could. He should have hated me too, but . . . he didn't." Jack took a shuddering breath. It wasn't so easy pretending this was easy, laid out on the table like she planned. Get through it, damn it. Just get through it. "He didn't hate anyone.

"I always thought something was wrong with him. I couldn't do what he did – take beatings and torture and procedures that made me crazy without anger or hate. He said he couldn't hate them, couldn't hate anything. He said he loved me.

"Sometimes I wonder if I imagined him. I wonder if anything that good could have existed in that black place at all. But there are some things I know I couldn't have imagined."

"Like what?"

Jack ran a thumb over her brow. "His eyes. They were – they were like yours, actually. A little more green, and guileless, if you can believe it. You don't have that – you know how the world is – but even being beaten within an inch of his life, he couldn't muster even the will to hate himself. I remember the odd things he used to say, like he didn't cry because the rain cried for him, or something. He was odd, but he was the only one who didn't hate me. And I started to need him."

"What happened to him?"

"He died . . . they killed him. I wish he could have died in the fights, with some other kid's foot on his neck. Nice and clean. But he died with his brains dribbling out of his nose, with blood oozing through his skin. They used him for something new and untested, and it turned him into a greasy stain on the floor."

"Hijo de puta," he breathed.

She took a steadying breath. "I broke out not long after that."

James shifted in his seat so that their knees were almost touching. "That isn't all, is it?" he asked her.

"You still want to hear it?" she asked him. Daring him to blink. "I won't think less of you if you back out." Part of her wanted him to, because this was lovely. He wasn't scared yet, and this next part was worse. This next part she couldn't blame on being young and hurt and stupid.

He didn't look away, didn't even bat an eyelash. She thought him brave, then. He was braver than she would ever be. "I want to hear it all. I told you."

She nodded, resolute. "I lifted a shuttle out of Teltin. I was – I was half crazy, freaking out. Some pirates picked me up. You think they would see a girl beaten and bloody and try to help, right? These . . . assholes used me and sold me to slavers.

"Broke free, joined a cult, joined a gang, was a merc, was a pirate. Did lots of shitty things. My criminal record is still pretty well known, if you want to know the details. I got a reputation so big that the Blue Suns caught me and brought me on their prison ship, Purgatory. You remember it?"

"Yeah," James said, frowning. "Lots of weird stories about it."

Jack faltered. God damn it, god damn it. She bunched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "It was – well, shit. Here's a story.

"The Warden acquires a prisoner of both worth and renown. A dangerous biotic, wanted in countless systems. A real crazy bitch. The Warden is a shrewd man, and realizes the power he could gain from having this biotic doing his dirty work would be worth far more than selling her to the highest bidder. He offers her privileges no other prisoner could know, and only requires that she lay back and let him take what he wants whenever he wants, and that she defend him with her life. She spits in his face."

She saw a muscle leaping in James' jaw and his hands balled into fists. "And then?"

"I'm sure you can imagine the Warden isn't pleased. He doesn't put her in a cell block with women; he puts her in a block with other men, to scare her into agreeing to his demands. But she doesn't bend. She's been captured and beaten, but she still has her pride. She won't let this asshole defeat her." Jack's voice trembled on the last words.

"But the Warden is impatient. He decides he wants to speed the process up and really put the fear of god into the biotic. He wants to break her, so she'll come crawling to him.

"He shuts down the wards in the latrine one day, shuts down all the locks. The latrine is contained but the criminals inside . . . they can all do what they want now. And they want to teach that biotic bitch that they're tough, they're stronger than her, they're in charge. They want to dominate and humiliate her. They want to break her too."

The story bubbled from her lips uncontrollably, and she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to. And watching James, she almost wanted to; he looked furious and sick to his stomach. He pressed his trembling fists to his sides as he watched her bristle like a wounded animal.

Even when her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, she continued to speak. She had to get this out, now more than ever, now when he looked at her with tenderness large enough to choke on. "So they trap her and pin her, and since they took away her amps when they brought her in, she can't defend herself. They hold her down while she screams herself bloody and take their turn, one by one by one. Even the guards get in on it.

"When it's over, she wants to die. She looks at herself in the mirror and even though the tattoos cover most of the bruises and scars, she looks broken. She sees it in her dead eyes, like empty windows. She feels like a stranger in her skin, because a stranger would have let this happen, but not her. Not her.

"And maybe you think rage is a bad thing, but rage saved the biotic in the end. It gave her a purpose when everything else had been taken. So before, she had never been able to produce any biotics without her amps (because you got to watch out for brain hemorrhage, you know). But her rage brings everything into sharp focus, and she knows exactly what to do.

"She plans it perfectly. She waits until the guards bring out the block for the bi-weekly showers. She shuffles out with the rest of them, endures the grabbing and slapping until they're in the shower, all of them corralled like pigs."

Jack's voice shook. "She focuses that rage and produces the first successful biotic display without an amp ever done by a human. She guts the fuckers, rips out their hearts. Everyone that raped her, everyone that stood by and laughed, the guards that held her down. She kills them all and anyone else that tries to subdue her. She nearly rips out a bulkhead and vents the whole ship.

"In the end, it's a sniper with a tranq that brings her down. No one else can get any closer.

"The Warden is furious. He had a lot of high profile prisoners in the latrine with her that day – prisoners that would have gone for a lot of money – and she killed them. So he puts her in cryo, because he knows that she will never stop trying to rip him apart. He doesn't want to kill her because even though she won't submit to him, he knows that she'll still go for a lot of money.

"And that's where she stays for a long time. She finally gets her chance to escape when Commander Shepard decides to purchase the infamous Subject Zero for her suicide mission to the Collector base. The Warden hasn't learned his lesson, so he tries to capture Shepard. But Shepard isn't having it. She and her team break out of their cell and get to control. They lift the lockdown and open every single cell on the ship, including the cryo chambers, and a riot breaks out. The biotic takes full advantage.

"She has a chance to break free, but she hasn't finished getting even with the assholes that fucked her. She barrels through the ship until she finds the Warden, and then she crushes his skull. She doesn't give him the long, painful death he deserves, but she does kill him. And then she runs.

"She's too late; Shepard has found her. Shepard is with Cerberus, and that's all the biotic needs to see to know what's going on. She'll fucking die before working for Cerberus. She doesn't know anything about Shepard, so she doesn't know that Shepard is the last person that would willingly, honestly work for them. She doesn't know that Shepard will use them in a way that the biotic learns to respect; turning something shitty in the galaxy and making it work toward the good.

"She works for Shepard at first because the money is good and the Illusive Man is offering to pull some strings and wipe her record. Not that she believes this, really, but either way she can take the money and bug out. She accuses Shepard of being full of shit and pretending to care, but Shepard proves the biotic wrong; she doesn't pretend; she doesn't need to. She legitimately cares. She listens to every horrible thing that the biotic can think of and doesn't bail when it gets weird or rough. She proves that not everyone is shit, and some people are worth following and defending."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The rest you know," she said. "Pulled off the suicide mission, got picked up by the Alliance, of all things. Taught biotic kids. Now I'm doing this."

He was quiet for a long moment; too long. "This is what goes through your head? When you're out?"

"Yeah. Now you know everything. The whole bucket of shit."

"Probably not everything," he disagreed, trying desperately to inject some levity in the conversation, but it only sounded sad and earnest.

"The big things, then. Probably lots of little details I left out."

At that moment she saw that he was desperately trying to control his anger. His struggle was genuine and earnest, all in an attempt to honor his promise to keep from making this whole exercise worse for her. And she wondered for one wild second if he was no longer interested, now that he knew her pain. She prayed – she begged that was it. That this reaction was revulsion. "Say what you need to," she told him. It would be worse not knowing, she decided.

He leaned forward so that they were almost touching, shin to shin, knees to knees. "I'm supposed to care about all life, as an Alliance Marine. And as a person, I'm supposed to . . . to be good, you know? But I'm just . . . I'm glad they're dead. I'm glad you killed them. I would have killed them if you hadn't already, I would have – fuck."

His hands had turned clawlike and he clenched his eyes shut. He was actually tormented by this need, and she didn't understand the reason for it. "Why are you so upset?" she blurted out, stunned to her bones.

He looked at her as if she'd spoken gibberish. "Why? Why do you think, Jack?"

"I – I don't know," she lied. She did know, but was afraid of being wrong. She was afraid of the words, and of saying the wrong thing. She was afraid of the truth.

What a fucking job. How wonderfully this had backfired! She'd trotted up her graveyard in the hopes that he'd take one look and head for the hills, and yet if anything it seemed to have had the opposite effect. Why do you think, he'd said. As if it was obvious now. Maybe it was; maybe that was why she was petrified, frozen down to the soles of her feet, why her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.

"Anyways," she said awkwardly. "That's why I might have tried to slug you when I first woke up. All that stuff rolling around. I'm pretty volatile, right?"

"I'd say that's understandable, considering," he returned. "Don't worry about it. I'm just . . . glad you're all right. Relatively. I mean – you know what I mean, right?"

She stared at him, completely agog. This wasn't supposed to be how it went down! He was supposed to look at her like she was a leper or something, like she was deranged, messed up, like he wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. He wasn't supposed to accept it all, sling it up over his back like he meant to share the load. Why had this failed? Why had this made it all worse?

The answer came to her instantly. Because he's not an asshole, like you keep insisting. He's good. He's better. He's better than the rest of the galaxy combined. And you knew that. So why the tricks?

If Jack possessed the powers of foresight –or at least a basic command of insight - she might have realized that was the moment of no return. The final threshold had been crossed, and there was no going back to the way she was before James had blundered into her life; she was in it for good, and so was he. But Jack was Jack, and she would continue her campaign of denial for as long as she possibly could. And she could go a lot farther yet.

She had to try, after all. God damn it, she had to try.

"Yeah . . . well, just forget about it," she said, though she might have known it was futile. "How about you make me something to eat before I starve to death?"

"When you put it like that, how could I say no?" he said, standing as if he'd aged a decade – simply by accepting her worries, her faults and fears, her graveyard - and though she knew he'd intended the words to be dry, the bright core of them was earnest as a prayer.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Many special thanks to my reviewers this time around: Nightfable, mydaddoesntsmellofelderberries, Eva, riehull, ebidebi, Vanessa, Herby Girl, Cortina2, Kat, Alpenwolf, Galtori, magicklibra, GahoCleric, janessmith, jay8008, Eleneri, Anon1, LilaWolken, Ortholeine, and CyanB, and to everyone else who has read, faved and followed. Your support means more to me than I can say.**

**Lots of big things going on in terms of my fandom writing! I've officially been a part of the Mass Effect fandom for one year - a day ago last year I posted the first chapter of Reunion. And from there, I've written over 600k words of mass effect fanfiction, with no plans to stop! I'm taking a break from my original work for the next few months because i needed a bit of a vacation, so most of my writing effort will be focusing on my fanfics! In honor of you guys and this amazing fandom, I've decided to rewrite Reunion from the ground up. It's a year old, and I feel like both my writing ability and my handle on the characters have gotten much better. I'll be starting that soon! **

**Anyways, I meant to apologize for the long absence again. Now that I'm back writing for fandom, I expect I'll have updates coming much more frequently than they have been. **

**I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I have to admit that I was not planning on how it ended. I absolutely love hearing back from you, so please feel free to drop me a review or a PM and share your thoughts with me! Thank you so much for reading guys. You make this fandom amazing. **

James hefted his rifle on the table and watched the proceedings with poorly masked apprehension. To his right was Jack, easily reclining in a club booth, a half-gone cigarette clamped between her lips, the ember illuminating a narrow band of her features – narrowed eyes, sensuous lips. Across from them sat the other merc greenhorns – Slim, Gummy, and Rich-Boy. James was ready if they wanted to try anything, but so far things had been on the level. In fact he had to admit that despite her head injury, Jack didn't need him to play guard dog. She held court with the lowlifes like she was their queen; they hung on every fucking word she said. It made him nervous. And, if he felt like being honest with himself, a little jealous.

Rich-Boy caught his gaze and shot him a razor-toothed grin. James scowled.

"So he's gurgling, right? Keeps screaming 'Get the fuck off me you crazy bitch!' Just choking on the words, can't even get them out. And he doesn't know that he's dead already. You call me a bitch, I'll cut off your fucking tongue. So I'm like 'I can't hear you' and I stomp his face in."

The mercs laughed loudly, obnoxiously, just like they owned the place. "Serves 'em right," Slim said, resting one meaty hand on his distended stomach. "Fucking fuzz."

"Damn right," Jack said, taking a long drag. The glowing embers reflected in her inscrutable eyes. James knew enough about Jack to know this particular story was a lie, but he wasn't going to pretend the ease with which she lied made him comfortable.

They'd been staked out this club for the last three hours, shooting the shit. Arvo wanted them to keep an eye out for Eclipse, but after a few minutes scoping the joint it became clear that Eclipse weren't as stupid as the Blue Suns. They weren't going to strut around the lower levels, picking fights with freelancers – who, thanks to Arvo's machinations, were quickly making a name for themselves on Omega. They moved almost exclusively through backdoor trade, exerting their considerable influence with merchants and brokers.

James had wanted to split as soon as they figured that out, but Jack had given him a wordless look of censure, and he'd known instantly what she meant. Then before the idiots could notice, she parked in a booth, ordered a half-dozen beers, and started talking. Somehow she'd known that Slim, Gummy, and Rich-Boy were easy to distract with alcohol and asari dancers. He wasn't sure what her play was, but he wasn't about to mess it up for her.

"You bite off your tongue, there, Beefsteak?" Gummy asked him.

"Aw, lay off him," Jack said easily, tapping the butt of her cigarette, watching loose ash drift lazily on the table. "He doesn't say much."

"I don't like it," Gummy said, his flinty eyes narrowing to slits, catching the weird lights of the club. "I don't trust the quiet ones."

"And why's that? Don't you know that the quiet ones can't lie to you?"

"Sure, but you can't know what they're thinking either," Rich-Boy chimed in. "Come on. No secrets among friends, right?"

Among friends – James would have laughed in any other company. As it was, he maintained his stony, uncomfortable silence.

"You ever consider maybe he doesn't know how to talk?" Jack pointed out. To someone who didn't know her she was all smiles and grins, but he saw the razor-sharp glint in her eyes, the unspoken hint of danger that promised violence if these idiots didn't lay off.

"I talk," James finally said, deciding to play along. "Just not much."

"You some kind of moron or something?" Gummy asked him.

He could run with that. It was partly true, anyway. He nodded.

"What's a moron do in the Alliance?"

Jack smirked. "What else? Shoot things."

They all had a nice laugh about that. He forced himself to grin vacantly, though honestly he was getting pretty pissed off. But he thought about Shepard, fighting the shadow cell a dozen worlds away. He thought about the bombings, the burned out colonies, the people getting stomped by Abrax and his thugs. He thought of his promise to see this through, to do the right thing, and the hope that he might find a slice of atonement in succeeding for once when lives were in the balance. He owed his dead that much.

"So how do a gorgeous biotic and an ex-Alliance moron end up together anyway?" Rich-Boy asked, grinning his dangerous grin. "Enquiring minds and all that."

"Asking nicely doesn't really work on me," Jack said, taking a drag and blowing the smoke in Rich-Boy's face.

"Maybe another drink would."

James could hardly believe it – this scumbag was flirting with her! Like he wasn't even here – at least twice his size, and heavily armed at that. Maybe pretending to be stupid wasn't the best idea.

"Maybe it would," Jack said, grinning. Before he could say anything, she stomped on James' foot under the table, and he only bit back a gasp of pain at the last minute. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was enjoying this weird little game with the mercs. If only he could figure out what the hell it was.

An asari waitress brought them another round of drinks. Rich-Boy threw a handful of credits on the table without looking at her, never taking his eyes from Jack. "So how about that story now?" he said, like he thought he was a king.

Jack shrugged, like it was old history between them instead of the design of Admiral Hackett, who had drafted both of their false identities and stories himself. "Met up on Illium. He was running protection for some volus brokers with their hands in some shifty business, trying to make a buck. A rival corporation hired me to wipe them out, and I did." She flashed them all her jackal's grin. "They didn't pay him to be loyal, and I like the way he looks. Fills out that armor of his pretty nice, don't you think?"

Rich-Boy did not look amused. "Sure. Kind of fucked for an ex-Alliance to be so far from Sol, don't you think?"

"Is it?" Jack said unconcernedly. "You think you'd want to stick around after ditching your post?"

"Was that before or after the war?" Gummy asked, narrowing his eyes.

"After," James interrupted. "I'm no coward."

"Of course not," Jack said, patting his arm. Playing up the act. "He's a lot of things, but a chicken-shit isn't one of them. I saw him tackle a dozen vanguards up at the Blue Suns warehouse the other day. And you know how he killed Tallock?"

The three of them shook their heads.

"With his bare hands. Ran out of ammo, so he just charged him and ripped his fucking face off. You want to talk to him about being a coward, it's your ass."

She left out the part where he did so because she was crumped unconscious on the ground from head injury, and how in that horrible moment he thought she was dead. But he kept up the act and cracked his knuckles like he didn't know his own strength, like he really was big and dumb – Lennie to Jack's George.

"We didn't mean nothing by it," Slim muttered. The others quietly agreed.

"Probably for the best you just let him be quiet," Jack said.

"Just trying to get to know the new blood," said Rich-Boy.

"Like you have been sniffing through our files already, you lying shithead."

Rich-Boy held up his hands. "Can't be too careful with ex-Alliance. And whatever the fuck you are."

Jack's grin widened into something feral, something blade-like and dangerous. If he'd been sitting opposite her without knowing who she was, he'd have lost the power of speech. "I'm whatever you need."

Rich-Boy didn't hear the double-meaning; he thought she was coming on to him. (Was she?) "That sounds like a promise to me."

The conversation seemed to have exhausted Gummy's patience; either he was put off by James or sickened by Rich-Boy and his obvious preference. "I'll see you assholes tomorrow," he said gruffly, lurching to his feet and lumbering out of the club. Slim hurried after him, but Rich-Boy didn't even seem to notice they had gone; he leaned closer to Jack over the table, grinning at her lecherously.

Jack brushed this off. "So we told you about us. How about you tell us about this business."

"Why you want to know?"

"Because we're the new kids. Fresh on the block. We don't know the landscape or the players. Be pals and fill us in."

It was like she'd known that Rich-Boy was the weak spot. Gummy obviously didn't trust them and Slim obviously didn't know anything. But Rich-Boy did, and he liked her. He looked at her and saw her naked in his bed, saw his hands around her wrists, around her throat. He all but licked his lips when she leaned forward, breasts straining against the low neckline of her shirt.

If James wasn't careful, he'd haul off and beat the shit out of the guy. But he bit the inside of his cheek and let Jack work, because this was something only she could do.

"What do you want to know?" Rich-Boy asked her.

"I want to know who's in charge of this little outfit." Jack said nonchalantly, taking a languorous drag on her cigarette.

"Any reason?"

"Well, I figure I'm throwing my lot in with you guys. Smitty here too," she said, indicating James. "I want to know if this business has a future, because if it doesn't I think we'll just move along." So lightly he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching her, Jack laid her hand on James' arm, fingers curling around his wrist. So subtle, so deft. Playing Rich-Boy like a fiddle.

"This little outfit is the only thing that's got a future in this galaxy," Rich-Boy boasted, his fingers skimming the brand new pistol at his side. James wondered briefly if he'd ever fired it.

"How do you figure?"

"I know Abrax," he said, keeping his voice low. "I know what he's got planned."

"Bull fucking shit," Jack laughed. "You think I'm dumb enough to believe the mysterious head honcho would confide his plans for galactic domination with a little piss-shit like you? I didn't know you were a comedian."

"I'm not," Rich-Boy snapped. "I know Abrax. We go way back."

"He raise you or something? Teach you how to fire a gun? Pay for your fancy education?"

"Something like that," Rich-Boy muttered. "I thought you wanted to hear about him."

"Sure, sure, I do. Hit me with it."

Abrax lowered his voice and leaned closer, so that he could have reached out and brushed her cheek with his lips if he dared. Granted, if he did, all bets were off. "He was with the Alliance, before the Alliance fucked him over. That's what I heard anyway."

Jack shot him a withering look. "I thought you said you knew him. What the fuck is this third hand bullshit?"

"It's not third hand! Not even his family knows about him," Rich-Boy said. "You think Abrax is his real name? It's a title, like the god from the Gnostics. Abraxas. He's as good as." Rich-Boy's voice had dropped to a reverent hush, so out of place on his wormy face, his rat-like features. Equally out of place in a thudding, flashing club.

Jack wasn't impressed. "A god, huh? You know how many cults I've ran with?"

"It's not a cult," said Rich-Boy. "You see us shaving our heads, drinking the drink, chanting around altars? It's more than that. Better than that. He wants to change things."

"Most cult leaders do."

"But this isn't about him. It's about the truth. It's about making things right."

"And he thinks he's going to do that by blowing up the Alliance?"

"And the Turian Hierarchy, and the Salarian Union. And all the rest."

Jack's expression was carefully neutral. "How's he think he's going to pull that off?"

Rich-Boy shook his head. "I don't know. I think only he knows."

Jack looked at him incredulously. "You're telling me however many thousands of mercs and freelancers are willing to just take him at his word and do whatever he says just for shits and fucks."

"Try hundreds of millions," Rich-Boy said.

In that moment, James knew that he and Jack were thinking the same thing: how the fuck had this man come by so many people, when every military and government in the galaxy was falling apart, struggling to replenish their ranks and restore order? "How is that possible?" Jack said, earlier smugness all but forgotten.

Rich-Boy shrugged. "You think you're the only ones to be sick of the way things are? There's a lot of us, spread out all over. Abrax finds them."

"Any chance we'll get to meet Abrax and hear all this great stuff from his mouth?"

Rich-Boy grinned. "Soon. When Omega falls."

James figured that was their goal here, the end of phase one, but it surprised him that this guy just came out and said it, like they weren't in the middle of a crowded club, surrounded by Aria's spies and rival merc gangs. It would be pretty easy to think the man was stupid, but James was suspicious. He suspected that Rich-Boy and Arvo and all the rest must be truly secure in their place here, in the eventuality of their plans. Why else would they risk open discussion?

"I just … I guess I'm having a lot of trouble wrapping my head around this. I mean, you talk a pretty convincing game, I guess, but I've been out on the Terminus my whole life. I see guys like Abrax come and go. They burst on the scene with big ideas and a pretty way with words, and then more often than not, they get taken out."

"Who's going to take Abrax out?" Rich-Boy laughed. The sound of it grated on James' nerves.

Jack feigned incredulity. "Do you watch the news? Pretty sure he's got a pair of war hero Spectres on his tail. You know, the ones who blew up the Reapers?"

It was a bold bluff – reckless and stupid and totally, utterly Jack. As it was, Rich-Boy wasn't fazed at all. "Don't think those Spectres will have faced anything like Abrax. What's a war hero next to a god?"

"I'm not one much for god," Jack said easily, stubbing out the last of her cigarette on the table. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Stick around, then," Rich-Boy said. "You'll see it, and you'll be on the right side of it all."

"Looking forward to it," Jack said, and only James heard the razor-fine note of threat in her voice. "I'll catch you later, Rich."

"Hold on, now," Rich-Boy said, standing, his spindly fingers closing around her wrist. "What do you say you ditch the moron and come back to my place?"

Jack fixed him with a stare that could have frozen a star. "Rich-Boy, I like you, but I'll break your fucking head if you touch me without permission again."

He dropped her hand as if it were caustic. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Which is why I warned you first." In an instant the clever grin was back. "See you tomorrow."

With that, she turned her back on him and strode from the club like she owned the fucking place, James hot on her heels, struggling to keep up. He thought it was lucky he didn't drop dead from a stroke right then and there the way his heart was pounding, like it wanted to wash its hands of this whole life thing and punch its way out of his chest. But Jack gliding through the filthy streets of Omega as if the danger hadn't occurred to her.

It wasn't a long trek back to their place, but to James it felt like they'd walked the distance to Earth. He kept his mouth shut until he hit the door before rounding on Jack, whose expression was entirely too innocent for what she'd done. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he hissed.

"Calm down," she said, shrugging out of her longcoat and tossing it on the table. "He's an idiot. He told us exactly what we needed to hear."

He unlatched his armor with sharp, jerky motions, letting it thunk to the floor. "Am I supposed to be impressed that you know how to play people?"

"You should be," Jack said, dropping her shotgun on top of her coat and looking up at him with an arched brow. "I didn't give anything away. I pushed that guy's buttons just right. So how about you tell me why you're pissed."

She was close enough to touch, her shirt clinging to her breasts in an obvious and irritatingly erotic way. He'd been hoping he could push past the whole desire thing long enough to be angry, but look too long and he'd remember what it was like to touch her, what it was like to listen to her talk about herself, her life, the things she knew and felt. Those barbed memories she wore like armor, the hooded defense in her eyes.

"You charge around like you can't get hurt, like no one can touch you. What if that guy got mad with you jerking him around, smashed your head on the table, and drove your implant up your brain? What if he shivved you? Maybe you'd be able to handle it when you're at top form, but you can't use your biotics."

"Is this really just about the same bullshit?" Jack demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's not bullshit," he snapped. "Getting all close, stroking his arm, simpering. 'I'm whatever you need'."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Say he decides he wants it. Say he tries to take it by force. You haven't seen him fight. You don't know what he can do."

Fury made her eyes bright. "Stop trying to make this about fighting him,"

"That's what it's about!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she snapped. "You're jealous."

"What's to be jealous of?" he retorted. "You don't belong to me. I don't belong to you. We just use each other, because that's how you like it."

She recoiled from him as if he had slapped her. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He wasn't an expert as self-denial like Jack was. He knew exactly what crawled under his skin and made it hard to breathe, hard to see, impossible to lie. He saw this woman he loved snickering with dangerous men, getting closer to people who could hurt her like she'd been hurt before. He saw this stupid mission blowing up in their faces the deeper they went. He saw her getting in deeper, too deep for him to do anything but watch her go down in flames, and the way the thought of it made his heart catch in his chest, the way it felt like dying himself. He saw what he'd seen before, on a different world, the people who had died because of his failures. He saw that this was exactly what he said he wouldn't let happen, this business arrangement was anything but, and in his rush to be what she needed, he'd gone outside his ability or control.

"I don't know," he bit out. "You tell me."

She was mad enough to hit him, he saw – mad enough to throw him to the floor and punch the shit out of him for making her doubt his word that this really was just a business arrangement, that he could handle it being physical and removed from his truth. She was mad enough to kick him out and make him find someplace else to live, even though it made no sense – they didn't have much in the ways of means. Maybe she was mad enough to leave herself.

But she did none of those things. Instead she turned her back on him and pulled her shirt over her head before striding into the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of the outline of her breast before she stepped into the shower.

"What are you doing?" he called.

"Taking a shower," she called back. "If you want to let me have it, I guess you're just going to have to let me have it in here."

It was her game, her favorite method of deflection. And he could decide right now if what he'd said would wedge itself between them or if it would fade under the shape of her lips, that tantalizing invitation in the form of that open door. If he was stronger or better he might have let her stew in that shower alone. He'd stand by his words because they were true – they didn't belong to each other, and he fucking hated it. But in the end, he was weak and stupid and he loved her – every broken, beautiful inch – and he'd be lying if he chose truth over her.

Already the bathroom had fogged over, so that he could only see the outline of her standing under the stream of hot water, running her hands through her hair. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "You just going to stand there?" she taunted, temper making her tone sharp.

He didn't even bother to undress, and she didn't even bother to taunt him for it. He was in the shower kissing her before either of them could say anything else damaging and stupid. Her small hands fisted in his shirt, ripping it over his head and flinging it over the curtain so that it landed with a wet thump on the tile before attacking the buckle of his pants and pushing them down. She kissed him so deeply that it was as if she sought to press herself there in his lips, to mark him, to mark each other – and he knew it was damning and impossible but he could no more stop himself than he could run away altogether.

He pushed her to the wall, his hands sliding over the bare, wet tapestry of her skin. He grasped her tightly by the hips, pressing himself close, shuddering when her lips found his neck, when her teeth grazed his skin. He covered her breasts with his palms, running his thumbs over the hardened nipples until she gasped against his mouth.

"Fuck," she breathed. In the flickering light of the steam-filled bathroom she seemed almost to be an otherworldly creature, a nymph rising from the water, like a story he didn't realize he remembered. And he knew that such beauty wasn't meant to be kept – that it ran if you held it too close, but he couldn't stop himself from holding tight, so tightly that his fingers left marks in her skin.

It was a taunt and a test, this madness. It was harder to control what he said when he was wrapped around her, kissing her deeply, drinking in the taste of her skin, her breath, her body. It was all he could do not to hurl it outward when he knelt before her, captured her breast in his mouth and flicked the nipple with his tongue, when he felt her arch against him, breathing _oh god, _her hands running through his hair. It was all he could do not to whisper it against her slim belly, against the apex between her thighs, kissing her there to stifle himself. Playing her there, urging her along, gasping when she did, when her hands grew tight and desperate. It was all he could do to bite it back when she came, her cries rising above the steam, above the running water, rising to halo them both.

And he was kissing her again, and she was kissing him. She was pulling him closer, her breasts flat against his chest, so close that water pooled around the valleys they created, the hollows made of skin met with skin, bone to bone. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he tightly gripped her thighs, and even then he waited because still he thought he could choose truth over this, truth over Jack –

Then she spoke, her lips pressed to his ear. "Sometimes I hate you," she breathed, and he knew in that moment that no person alive had ever said hate in such a way – such a lie, he prayed, let it be a lie.

"Shut up," he said gently, because otherwise he would have said '_I know',_ or worse, '_no you don't.' _

Then he was inside her, rocking to the time of some strange music, to the sound of her cries against him, the feel of her hands pressing into his shoulder. She braced herself against the wall, her head thrown back, eyes closed. And he knew he would say it if he didn't stop himself, because this was no lie or distraction – this was the heart of it all. This – the feel of her around him, _dios – _the sound of her voice as it shivered around orgasm, the deep color of her eyes, deep enough to lose himself in. The feel of her pulse under his lips when he brought them to her neck, the feel of her hands as they captured either side of his face, the feel of her mouth on his, her breath coming hot, coming hard.

What truth this was, he thought through the haze of her, through the pleasure so fine it could have been pain too. Maybe it was pain – because he knew this was the only closeness she could abide, the only intimacy she would allow. Because words and truths were sharp dangers and this was a good lie, and it was easier to be used than to be broken.

She did not leave him alone. When he came, she was there; hands holding him close, her lips pressed to his so that his moans filled her mouth. They were drenched and hot and raw – soul sick, his _tía _had called it once – and even then with such lies stripped away she did not disengage. Instead she watched him, her legs still wrapped around his waist, still buried hilt deep in her.

And he prayed that this look was wordless understanding, that she would forget he'd said anything. Maybe that was what her stare meant now – a similar prayer, so that they could go on in the only way she knew. He hadn't been lying then. He could do that.

Gently, they broke apart. He set her down and she switched off the shower. She passed him a towel before toweling off herself.

"What do you say you make us some food," she said finally, standing in their crummy apartment, naked as a daystar. "And while you're at it, let's figure out how to contact Shepard."

He nodded. "Sure thing."

And they continued on just as before.


End file.
